#god i wish i was rich enough to get wine drunk

[savetheghost]

sometimes. sometimes you get your favorite wine. which is basically just alcoholic grape juice. sometimes you get it. and you. you drink the bottle. sometimes thats just how that is.

[ohmygodshesinsane]

Hey Finn! Hello! An anon recommended I drop “September Sprinkles” in people's askboxes sooooo here is yours. Obviously I could not say no to such a good and smutty idea 😂 Here you go lovely xx

Guess what I’m not wearing right now.

👀👀👀 I love this, thank you so much for sending it! Here’s my take…. (I hope it’s spicy enough to count!)….

“Lily?” A knock came at the door. Lily cast a quick charm on the bubbling cauldron and pushed her goggles to the top of her head. Her workstation was crammed with teetering books and phials of vibrant liquids and finely crushed porcupine quills.

“Come in!” she called back. The door to the cool underground room opened, and Nita stuck her head through the archway, smirking mischievously. Lily groaned. “Oh, God. What now?”

“Floo call for you,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows. Lily pulled her goggles over her tied-up hair and dumped it on the table.

“Who is it?” Marlene, Peter, Mary, Sirius, and Remus had already called, and of course she’d seen James this morning, when he’d woken her with breakfast in bed and a steaming cup of tea.

“I’m not allowed to tell you,” Nita said, her smile widening. Lily stretched her arms above her head as she followed the receptionist down the hallway. Two hours remained until she could clock off, and go home to properly celebrate her birthday. Not that her day had been all misery; the new tincture they were developing was proving an exciting challenge, and the hours had been punctuated by well-wishes.

They climbed the stairs to the cosy reception, with its wood-panelled walls and pots of blooming aconite. The fireplace on the nearest wall cast a warm orange glow across the round edges of the desk and the navy Persian rug. Nita’s eyes glittered as she slipped into her seat. Lily’s brows furrowed curiously as she knelt before the crackling coals, searching for a face.

Of course.

“Happy birthday,” her boyfriend beamed.

“James,” she said, trying not to smile. Her lips fought furiously against her better instincts. “You couldn’t wait another two hours?”

“No,” he said. “Unless you’re doing something important?” Her heart rushed with gratitude.

“Nothing as important as you,” she said, lowering her voice, though she knew Nita would never tell. “Is this some warning not to come home, so you can better set up my surprise party?”

“You adamantly said ‘no surprise parties’. I respect that.”

“Then…?”

“Then…? I just wanted to tell you that I love you.” But even when his face was made of shifting embers, she recognised that twist of his mouth. Her stomach fluttered.

“Well, I love you too. Is that all?”

“Well.”

“Well?”

James’s teeth skimmed his lower lip. “Do you want to play a game?” The tone of his voice made her look over her shoulder. Nita hummed as she organised a stack of parchment.

“What kind of game?”

His eyebrows arched. “I want you to guess something.”

“Azerbaijan.”

“No.”

“Thirty-two.”

“Not that either.” Lily couldn’t help but snort, and James laughed too, until he was coughing up coals. “Shit. Ow. No, Evans. Guess what I’m not wearing.”

Her heart jumped in her throat, but she kept her expression cool.

“Shoes,” she replied.

“Technically correct.”

“Got it in one.”

“Good girl.” Lily’s breath cut short, heat flooding her cheeks. “I’ve got something for you, when you get home. A present.”

Despite herself, Lily leaned closer to the flames. “Oh?”

“D’you remember Boxing Day?” Her stomach contracted sharply. How could she forget? Drunk on mulled wine, under the tree, James’s hands in her hair, his tongue on her…

“Yes.” Lily tried to focus. “Which part?”

“I couldn’t distract you from your work.”

Lily bit the inside of her cheek. Work had quickly fled from her mind. “Which part, Potter?”

James’s eyes twinkled. “Is that a guessing game you want to play? It’s something you’ve said you’d like. What do you like, Evans?” A shiver ran down her spine.

“Why don’t you tell me?”

“I’ll show you.” His voice was warm and rich, like gold whiskey. Lily’s fingers hovered over the reddened wood, a string in her heart pulling tight as she longed to touch him.

“Go on, then.”

“Nah.” The fire shifted, and James had obviously moved back, for now his features were less focused. “Tonight. You can’t wait another two hours?”

“I can’t get a hint?” A kind of frustration coiled within her… the sort that would make measuring the reactions of porcupine quills to diluted essence of hellebore much less interesting. James had a way of narrowing her world to only one type of chemistry.

“I gave you a hint.” He shrugged, carelessly cool. “Boxing Day.”

“James -”

“I love you,” he said quickly, cheekily. “I’ll see you soon. Happy birthday.”

“I love you. But -” His face vanished from the fireplace, leaving only burning charcoal. Lily leaned back on her heels, breathing raggedly. Her eyes darted to her watch.

One hour and fifty-two minutes.

Fuck.

[oumaheroes]

Stargazing

Word Count: 2030

Characters: England, France- FrUK

---

‘If you could go back to any era, which would you choose?’ There is a stone in-between France’s shoulder blades, something that finally tips the scales from being comfortable into not, so France rolls onto his side, cradling his head in his hand.

From his spot in the grass next to him, England turns his head lazily, the movement long and slow. His eyes are the last to move, fixed on the stars, and they find France’s with a sharp flick, ‘What?’

‘Are you too drunk to listen?’ France lifts a heavy arm and reaches across the small distance between them to brush some errant hair away from England’s forehead and lets it stay there, tangled in his roots. France himself is wine soft and slow, warm in his stomach and chest from both the day and the drink which settles within him.

England huffs, ‘More like drunk enough that I can stop pretending you’re worth listening to.’

France hums indulgently, far too jovial at the moment to search for any unintended offense, ‘oh, the lies you tell yourself. They do amuse me.’

England frowns, head still facing France and cheek pillowed in the grass.  Wine is not enough to soften him entirely, it seems, ‘that is rich, coming from you.’

France brings his hand down from England’s hair to lay it across his mouth, ‘I’m not starting anything with you this evening, I’m too full.’

England opens his mouth and, very gently, bites the meat of the pad of France’s hand. Just to show that he could and to be difficult, showing that he won’t go down without a fight. France’s small input in the ridiculous battle is to leave it there, refusing to give in. Eventually, England lets go and moves his head away, although not before pressing his teeth down just that bit harder. France reclaims his hand and allows him escape without protest.

‘What drivel did you ask me?’ England looks back up at the sky again, high and cloudless above them.

‘If you could be in any era again, any that we have lived through,’ France repeats, ‘which would you pick to go back to?’ He has caught England in a good mood, one where he has allowed himself to be seen, for a time, without anything sharp covering him. Drink has made him pliant and loose tongued and France, in a similar mood, is keen to make the most of it.

England rolls his head slightly back, considering the question, ‘How long do I get in the era?’

‘No, don’t do that, don’t make it technical. It’s not a difficult question.’

‘It most certainly is, running water always influences things,’ England’s mouth twists in a wry hint of a smile, ‘and it’s one thing to pop back to the Tudor times for one of the court parties and quite another to have to spend more than a week there. I do not lament the loss of hose and codpiece.’

‘I do, they made my legs look fabulous.’

England snorted and rolled his eyes, ‘Why am I not surprised.’

‘You’re avoiding the question,’ France twists away from him briefly to feel for the wine bottle they’d been drinking from. It had rolled away slightly, the slight incline of France’s garden causing it to move easily as they shuffled about and he takes a long swing of it before laying it between them, neck resting on England’s stomach. He’s past beyond the point of using glasses now.

‘I’m not avoiding the question, I was trying to-‘

‘No stop, you’re ruining it; I’ll go first,’ after brushing the grass underneath to clear it of stones, France returns to lying on his back, arms behind his head, and ignores England’s tut of annoyance, ‘I think I’d actually want to go back to the days under Rome, just for a visit.’

England sits up on his elbows and takes a sip from the bottle himself, ‘I hadn’t expected that of you.’

‘No?’

‘God no. I would have thought you’d want to go back to one of your King Luis. You know, peak opulence, decadence- all that faff. You still love the fancy balls and the clothes, and the needless tat that came with it,’ England takes another sip of wine and runs his tongue over his teeth, ‘the dances and the jewels, the silly little court rules of behaviour. The gossip.’

France chuckles, ‘you were so funny every time you were dragged along- so out of place! You couldn’t go more than an hour before letting your true colours slip free.’ England was never truly refined for very long, especially when it came to the Versailles’ court standards.

‘Anyone with a lick of sense was immediately out of place,’ England quips drily and lays down again, placing the cork back in the wine as he goes.

It sounds nearly empty- shame. It was a nice year and the last of the bottles that they’d brought out to the garden. Dinner had been a late, informal affair in France’s kitchen- homemade bread and creamy, locally made cheese with chicken. Simple and filling, comfort food for the both of them. The summer heat made them both unwilling for anything too excessive and the entire day had been spent doing lots of nothing much at all; England lounging about in shorts that France refrained from teasing him about lest he stop wearing them.

‘Yes well,’ France lifts his head and clumsily bats him in the stomach with the top of his hand, ‘despite that indeed being extremely enjoyable, I do mean it. My choice of era, I mean.’

England makes a soft noise that gently demands elaboration, a low rumble in the back of his throat but France needs no prompting. He presses a knuckle into the softness of England’s stomach and feels him breathe in deep and slow.

‘I’d love to have nothing to be responsible for again. Everything was done for me, as a colony- the way my cities were built, the improvements made to my industries, the negotiations for trade and commerce, everything. I’d like to revisit being a child, in the closest sense of childhood our kind has,’ France pauses, mulling that over, ‘Imagine that again, being small but without fear of being so. No politics, no money driven economy, no push for growth. We have spent so much of our lives racing to get somewhere, striving to be more that I can hardly remember what it was like to be nothing more than an idea, existing just to speak for the lives that called themselves mine.’

France turns and catches England watching him, eyes searching and heavy, ‘Does that make sense?’ he asks him.

‘No,’ England’s answer is immediate, ‘no, and yes. The desire to be I understand, but I detested that age.’

France smiles at him, understanding masked by the dark. England does not, and never did, like being anything other than in perfect control of himself. Relinquishing that to someone else, even for his own benefit, has never been anything more than a horror.

‘Well,’ France says, ‘that is my choice. I liked being looked after and I have so much to do nowadays that it would be nice to have nothing to do once again. Nothing more than wander about my fields and see my people, or visit a northern barbarian across the sea.’

‘Don’t talk about Scotland that way, you’ll hurt his feelings.’

France laughs and reaches down to find England’s hand, open palmed and curled fingers by his side. He intertwines his own with it and brings them upwards, watching as together they cut across to block the light from his house and silhouette into a tangle of them both.

‘So,’ he says, running a thumb across the skin of England’s knuckle, ‘what era would you choose?’

England sighs, a light thing but France can hear a yearning there, ‘Any of the years I was at sea. The 1500’s when I was first starting out and even up to the 1700’s when things became more regimented- any of them. To be able to just get in a boat and go, no one knowing when I would come back or even where I was going.’

France shudders, the idea of being out in ocean that deep and so alone chilling him. For creatures that revive after death, who can wake again and again and again as long as there is a body to return to, the ocean is a lonely, painful place to die. To sink lifeless into murky depths, only to reawaken there in the dark press of salty sea; most nations avoided it as much as they could, wishing to avoid the long, drawn out death choked by waves and forgotten on the seafloor.

England never had such a healthy fear of the oceans. He went out into thunderous storms and monstrous waves as if enchanted, unable to resist the pull of something untamed. England sailed off as soon as he was able, going out for further and longer than anyone else dared and losing himself in the harsh life of the brine. He was a different creature far out at sea, something so strangely alive and perfectly at home for a man made from the soul of the mountains and land.

‘You always were a strange one for the macabre,’ France drops their hands back down and finds England once more looking at the sky, the reflection of stars glinting in his eyes.

‘The seas never change,’ his voice is quiet and distant, ‘some things do change, of course- the boats we sail on, how we do so. Things shift on the sea, the lands we travel to and from are washed away and changed with time but the sea itself is always the same. I appreciate it for that, it is predictably unpredictable. Constantly refusing the press of mankind by being the one thing we can never truly understand, for all of mankind’s new fancy gadgets.’

England gives a sudden, dry laugh, ‘I used to navigate the world by constellations, now I have to travel just to find some stars. To the highest peaks I have, or deep in my countryside to avoid as much light pollution as I can. But out at sea they are as they have always been, the same things I have watched and tracked for thousands of years. That is when I can just be as I have always been.’

The sky hangs overhead, speckled and bright and now, France notices, startlingly empty, ‘I often forget that they’re there,’ France speaks to the sky, ‘Funny, isn’t it? How something so fundamental can disappear and mankind not even notice. How odd to forget that stars are there, then to not notice they’re gone.’

‘We are cursed or blessed to remember what’s past,’ England offers, ‘which one depends on who we remember for.’

They lay in silence for a moment. France feels the collected years sit with him openly, laying on his chest and heart like tiny weights. The ground pushes against his back, firm and unmoving, and he breathes in deeply, smelling the heat of the summer in the air. He is here. He is now. He is. Still, after all this time. He watches.

To exist is to change, to live is to evolve and move with the flow of time, but France understands the want for something constant in the flood, something that stays recognisable and the same throughout the years. The older he gets, the more he yearns for it keenly.

‘You’ve gone and made things serious,’ he lifts himself back up on an elbow, England looking at him without moving his head, ‘just like you to take a light conversation and ruin it.’

England raises an eyebrow, “Oh the lies you tell yourself; they do amuse me.”

His French is accented with a Norman dialect, a gentle dig and refusal to fully let France have what he wants and France laughs at it, at this one unchanging constant he is stuck with. He leans down to kiss him, hair curling into England’s face and hiding what remains of the night sky.

----

AN: Every time I try writing one of these small drabbles, I start out with a particular idea and tone in mind but gosh darn it they never go where I intend for them to.

Today we have ended up with this, two old men talking themselves in circles in the summer grass.

[bubbleteaimagines]

age gap

tony stark oneshot

tony x you

swearing, large age gap

in this day and age it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal.

but it was.

y/n l/n and tony stark became trending worldwide, every gossip magazine and newspaper out for whatever information they could get about your relationship.

the relationship by the way, that had a 28 year age gap.

you were 20 and tony was turning 48, though it seemed neither of you cared as much as the world did.

you thought it was perfectly normal, seeing as your parents were years apart and tony simply didn’t give a damn.

‘screw the tabloids’ he always said, but sometimes it wasn’t that easy.

at home, you were able to relax with the idea of your age gap as it was just the two of you being y/n and tony.

but out in public, it was an entirely different deal.

whispers, stares, pictures. you name it and people did it, not even caring or respecting your private time with tony when you went out.

you didn’t expect for it to bother you as much as it did. you thought that maybe with tony by your side you could block out the whispers and the hateful stares but it was nearly impossible as it happened almost everywhere you went.

even if you went grocery shopping for god’s sake, someone still had something negative to say.

of course, tony defended you as much as he could. he tried to shield you from the hateful words and articles but sometimes he wasn’t enough.

sometimes, it did get to you and soon you realized you didn’t know how much more you could take.

you loved tony, but after being constantly called a gold digger and his sugar baby, you began to doubt yourself, and your relationship.

were you really as manipulative as the papers said? were you really just with tony for his money?

of course not. deep down you knew that with or without money you loved tony stark. and he loved you, but it didn’t help that he also loved to spoil you and he was paying almost all of your college tuition.

even though you insisted he didn’t, he did anyways. he reassured you after countless protest that that was just something he did; he took care of everyone he loved.

eventually you were forced to settle with the idea. but it never stopped the running thoughts in your head.

am i really that bad as everyone says?

it was during a christmas party that tony was holding that you finally snapped.

tony had gone all out; getting the most expensive decorations and inviting all of the richest people he knew.

and of course, since it was tony, he also got the best alcohol money could buy, and unfortunately you weren’t allowed to drink a single drop.

all night, you had stood awkwardly by tony’s side in your pretty red dress, holding a cup full of water and laughing uncomfortably as you were forced to listen to drunk rich people tell unamusing stories.

by now, the music was blasting, night had fallen, and you were pretty sure you were only one not drunk at the party, minus tony and steve.

the elegant cup that you pretended to drink from held nothing expect for water and it was only another painful reminder that you were probably the youngest one at the party.

out of respect, tony decided he wasn’t going to drink either but that did nothing to ease you. If anything, you wished that he had been drinking so that he wouldn’t remember the embarrassing conversation you were having with some of the housewives he invited.

“so, y/n, tell me,” a woman name martha kalnins gushed as she sat on one of tony’s luxurious couches, obviously drunk from one of the many glasses of wine she had had. “Is Tony really as amazing in bed as everyone says he is?”

a round of laugher from the other housewives around you made you shift uncomfortably, thankful the dark room didn’t show the frown radiating off of you.

“uh… i uh,” you sounded like a child, struggling to answer her question and you laughed uncomfortably as to not show how disturbed you really were. you shared a look with tony.

“i mean … h-he’s great at everything, honestly. it’s tony stark we’re talking about,” you answered unsurely, and tony squeezed your thigh as the women laughed again.

“oh, i guess you’re right,” martha slurred and took another drink. “that tony is a catch. hell, if i had been twenty years younger like you i would’ve snatched him up, too. with that tight little body of yours it’s no wonder he’s so eager to pay your bills.”

another round of laughter and you could feel tony beginning to tense up beside you. now, it was your turn to squeeze his leg and you turned back to the women with a tight smile.

“oh, tony doesn’t pay my bills,” you tried to assure them but they waved it off.

“oh nonsense. why else would you be with a man that’s almost 50?” another woman asked you and you threw her a sharp glare.

you were starting to heat up, not appreciating their little jabs at your relationship.

“why am i with him?” you pulled out your cold tone and scoffed at her. “i don’t know— maybe because i love him?” you said a little angrily.

how dare they insinuate anything else than the truth: you loved tony and you didn’t give a damn about his age.

the woman snorted. “yeah. that’s what i told myself when i first met howie,” she threw a glance to an older man in the corner. “sure does make the sex a lot easier when you think you love them.”

you couldn’t stop your blood from boiling.

“how dare you!”

in an instant, you were up and out of your seat, the woman’s smile long gone as you angrily got in her face.

“y/n!” tony tried to stop you but you were sick of it. you were sick of it all; the jokes, the jabs, the little comments that nobody had any business making on your relationship.

you were done.

“how dare you talk about my relationship like that when you know nothing about us!” you fumed and suddenly you had everyone’s attention.

“who are you come into our house and as our guest disrespect us? you don’t know a thing about tony and i. not a single damn thing. you don’t know about all of the late nights we have, all of the laughs we share and all of the movies we watch. you don’t know about all the things we have in common besides sex and you damn well don’t know anything about me! you don’t, because if you did then you’d know i’m not with him for the money, or the fame, or whatever else you think is associated with tony stark. i’m not here for any of that. i’m here for him, so why don’t you get your head out of your ass and realize that just because you spread your legs for money, that doesn’t mean the rest of us do!”

by the time you finished you were panting and everyone was in complete shock. it was silent, and the woman in front of you looked as if she didn’t know what the hell to do.

no one did as you stood with your chest moving heavily, your well deserved rant coming off of your consciousness.

you huffed.

“well then. seeing as i’m only 20, i guess it’s past my bedtime,” you rolled your eyes and looked at the clock, noticing it was 1AM.

“i’ll see you all … whenever. goodnight.”

you did a dramatic turn and then proceeded to exit tony stark style. leaving a big commotion behind you and no doubt people that would spread your words everywhere the next morning.

that would be another problem you would have to worry about, but right now you focused on just sleeping the entire night away.

sighing, you changed out of your dress into some shorts and swiftly got under the covers.

you closed your eyes, and you tried to let sleep come to you but it was almost impossible as you were painfully aware the spot next to you was empty.

tony hadn’t come to bed yet and it was like your body refused to let you rest until he did.

sighing again, you peeled your eyes open again and decided to stare up at the blank ceiling, waiting for tony to come to bed.

when he finally did, it was around 3AM in the morning but even the dark you could see his shit-eating grin.

“well, that was quite the performance tonight, miss l/n,” tony teased almost immediately and you groaned.

“sorry if i ruined your party,” you apologized to tony and buried your face in a pillow. “i just got so mad that people kept insinuating i was only with you for that that i just … i just snapped.” you explained.

tony was still grinning and you felt the bed dip as he gently slid in beside you.

“don’t worry about it. i’d say that was more entertaining than mrs. mccoy getting so drunk she admitted she was cheating with garden boy,” tony laughed and you snorted.

“great. i was the biggest scandal of the night,” you sighed.

“biggest one of the century, actually. how long do you think it’s gonna take for people to start talking about it?”

“i’d say it’ll make an appearance in the morning. some magazine talking about how tony stark’s sugar baby finally blew her fuse,” you yawned and tony chuckled.

“yeah well, at lease i don’t have to worry about if it’s true now.”

“worry if what’s true?”

“that you love me,” he said quietly.

you peered up at him in the dark.

“tony? what? of course i love you,” you frowned. you felt the pillow shift as tony shook his head.

“no, yeah, i know,” he said. “but now i don’t have to worry about if it’s tony stark you’re attracted to, or iron man.”

“clearly i wouldn’t be attracted to a piece of metal, tony,” you both rolled your eyes simultaneously.

“yeah, no shit,” tony sighed. “but i mean like— i don’t have to worry about which personality you’re attracted to. now i know for sure that it’s me that you want, and not just my name. or my fortune.”

“well, technically both are still up from grabs,” you smirked in the dark. “haven’t signed a pre-nup yet.”

“oh but you definitely will now,” tony scoffed, but there was humor behind both of your words.

you both found comfort in knowing that you only wanted each other, and not for the reasons everyone else thought.

you weren’t with tony for the money. and he wasn’t with you for the sex.

you both genuinely and honestly loved each other, and now you knew that no ridiculous tabloid or paper was ever gonna make you doubt that again.

[imatechbummerliketomholland]

sorry seems to be the hardest word - h.o

Word count: 3171

Warning: angst, swear

Pairing : harrison osterfield

Request: no.

N/A: It took me so long to write this. I remember i asked @soft-haz to write something with the "sorry seems to be the hardest word" vibe, it was so good! But i wanted to write something by myself too. Remember, english is not my first language, so be kind if you spot mistakes, i really try my best. Italics parts are flashbacks

Thanks to @petersasteria because she correct a big part of this fic! Love you. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think of the fic! Love you all! xx

ღღღ

part 2 (harry hollad x reader) - part 3 (harry holland x reader)

The few rays of sunshine in London today and England's victory over the Croats had improved your mood. Tom and Harry were home as soon as the game was over, they found you sitting on the couch with a glass of wine. You hadn't wanted to join them at the bar for obvious reasons: to keep your privacy as much as possible. Living with four boys was not easy, but living with four boys, one of whom was a world-famous actor and another in the midst of the media boom, was even more so. Of course, fans knew that Tom, Harrison, Harry, and Tuwaine had a female roommate. But you've always managed to never appear with your face uncovered in any media activity of your four-favorite divs.

The bottle was already nearly empty and you were already on your drunken streak, not wanting to stop when two of your drinking buddies had just entered. What a good opportunity to continue the evening.

"Will you join me, boys?"

“Mmm yeah, sure, love.” Harry said.

But a problem presented itself to you: the boys drank beer, you drank wine. You had two options now: either open a new bottle of wine for yourself or continue the evening with beer. Your eyes turned to your glass, spilling the rest of the bottle into your jug before swallowing it dry. Harry had a stunned expression on his face as Tom smirked.

"I see hanging out with us leaves its mark."

"You wish, Holland. I knew how to do it before I even knew you existed."

"You've known me since I was 19."

"And you think I waited for you to learn how to drink?"

"Fair enough."

You met the boys in a pub. You’ll never tell Nikki that, when you met them, her precious twins drank too many beers even if they weren’t old enough to drink (technically, they weren’t criminals, drinking beer at 16 is legal and come on, it’s England!)

❀❀❀

So, you met the boys in a pub. It was one of the nights when your friends and you wanted to drink until you're blackout drunk. You were in that pub/club, looking up after one of your friends. She had detected some pretty boys in the back and left you there, alone. You moved around the room without paying attention: glass in hand, your phone you stared at in the other. You suddenly felt an arm blocking your chest with force. The surprise had made you drop your glass.

“What the heck?!?”

“You will not pass, miss.”

“Oh yeah? Why? Is the pope there?” You said sarcastically

The man who stood in your way raised an eyebrow and you looked at him, waiting for a response.

“You are very funny. It’s a VIP space.”

“Once again, why is that?”

“None of your business.”

“Actually, I don't care if Sir Elton John is in that bar or if it's even the Queen of England. I'm just looking for my friend: tall, blonde, balloon-sized fucking boobs, red dress."

“Not seen."

You sighed. The situation annoyed you to the highest point. You had lost your friend and that big asshole had broken your glass. The man in front of you seemed to be marble. Short answer, arms crossed, and an imposing posture. All you wanted tonight was just to have fun. You didn't care that God-knows-who, any famous or rich enough to book a VIP space, was in that bar.

"Would the asshole that hired you tonight, at least be kind enough to buy me the glass you broke with your bullshit?"

From his side, Harry had noticed the altercation. He then walked towards you, he laughed when he heard you insult his brother through the bouncer's fault. And as the Colossus' bodyguard was about to tell you that you could always dream of getting that free drink, Harry spoke up.

“The asshole, maybe not directly. But the asshole's brother. Certainly. It will be on his check anyway.”

“For God's sake, what are you waiting for then?”

And just like that, you met the boys. Harry paid you for the glass that the other jerk broke, invited you to this precious VIP space and you could talk and dance the night away. You had exchanged your social media and over time, your phone numbers. And as fast as you couldn't imagine, you had found yourself stuck in an apartment with four adorable idiots as roommates.

❀❀❀

"Hey, y/n, where are the others?" Harry asked.

You grumbled and grabbed the beer the curly had just opened. He protested as you took a sip. Tom gave you a curious look and you frowned behind your bottle.

"y/n?”

"I don't know where T is, but Harrison's gone on a date with Gracie."

The two brothers exchanged a look heard in the face of the bitterness they had perceived in your voice. It was no longer much of a secret that you had feelings for Harrison. You had feelings for Tom's best friend for almost as long as you'd met him. Harry had noticed it first, because you were much closer to him than to Tom. The actor had understood at the start of an evening, at the beginning of the relationship between Harrison and his girlfriend.

However, you didn't hate Gracie. She was beautiful, kind, and very funny. She really brought out the best in Harrison, she made him happy and you could see that because of the distinct smile on his face. You didn't hate her; she just wasn't you and you just weren't her. And that was the whole problem. Jealousy consumed you and you hated yourself for it.

“Are you alright, darling?” Tom asked you since silence filled the room after your last sentence.

"I'll be fine after one more drink" you simply answered.

You took a sip of the beer you stole from Harry. Drowning in alcohol was certainly not the solution. But you just wanted to forget the blond a bit for tonight. Tom's worried look made you roll your eyes.

"Oh come on, Tom. Don't give me those eyes. I will be fine ..."

“Yeah, sure.” he said with a doubt.

"Can we just watch a silly movie or play a silly game to make my night better?"

Harry seemed to hear you as he shrugged and took a sip of his drink. He knew you by heart. At this point, he really considered you his best friend. So he knew you needed something to clear your mind. Something where your mind should be quick to think about.

“One,” he said nonchalantly.

"Two" you responded with a huge smile on your face.

"You are both stupid." the Holland elder complained about the game you had just started.

"You say that because you're a lousy actor who can't remember his lines. Play Holland!"

"Three". He capitulated.

And you continued like this until 21. Then, there followed a multitude of rule additions each time you reach the number 21. The 7 turned into "I'm a poor liar", the 18 into "I'd rather kiss a guinea pig" ... And every time one of you made a mistake, he drank. After an hour, the game looked like a strange conversation from the outside.

"Squirrels are scary, man." Harry said, mimicking his older brother.

"Black Widow is the best president of the United States" Tom said

"But she’s a bad lay." you responded, with a fake sigh of disappointment

"I'd rather kiss a guinea pig"

"Because you have no taste"

"Twenty"

It was at this precise moment, in the middle of the conversation, that Harrison decided to enter the living room. His blissful smile gave way to an air of amazement and disbelief at the talk between his three roommates. It was Tom who first noticed his best friend. He nodded to greet him. Harrison wore a simple black t-shirt with chinos. You took a look at your roommate and your cheeks flushed a little more than they already were.

"Hello mate! How was your date?" asked Tom with a big smile on his face

"Awesome. Can't believe it will be a year in 3 freaking days." Harrison said.

You could see his large smile, and blissful air. He was sweating happiness and although you were happy for him, it tore your heart. You purse your lips to avoid comment. Harry spoke up.

"We're playing 21. Do you want to land with us?"

"In fact, you can take my place." You got up from the couch and walked over to the kitchen to drop off your beer drain. Harrison frowned as Tom exchanged a new look with his brother.

"y/n, you can stay, It's an unlimited players game." Harry almost begged.

"No, I'm tired. I'm going to take a shower and then go to bed."

“y/n” Harrison tried to call you to hold you back a little longer.

But you were already gone. You've never climbed the stairs so fast to run away from your roommate/best friend. Harrison looked at Tom and Harry, worried about your behavior. The curly one just shrugged his shoulders as his brother shook his head, silent. They weren't intending to get involved in this. You were the only master of your feelings and the time you'll decide to confess them to Harrison. That is why they preferred to be quiet.

☙♡❧

You spent the whole next week to avoid Harrison as much as possible. Established more distance with him was your solution to protect yourself from your feelings especially after his one-year anniversary date with Gracie and his absolute cute instagram post. It broke you down. Your heart was in peace but you couldn't blame him or his girlfriend. You were in love with the wrong guy, that's all.

But you couldn't hide from him forever. After all, you both lived in the same house, you had the same friends. So, it was hard to pretend he didn't exist.

Today was not your lucky day. You bumped into him in the kitchen. That was his opportunity to hold you down. He grabbed you by the shoulders, preventing you from burying yourself. Now he would finally find out what was wrong with you. Because Harrison wasn't a fool. He had noticed that you acted with him differently. Your behavior remained unchanged towards the other boys in the house.

“y/n. Don’t avoid me; please, please y/n, look at me”

You have plunged your eyes into its bewitching blue irises. Big mistake. You were drowning now in the turmoil of your feelings for the blonde. He had always had that effect on you, always. Tears started to bead at the corners of your eyes, you were biting your lip to hold back the torrent of tears that was already beginning to flow. Harrison's throat tightened at the sight of you like that and his hold on your shoulders slowly loosened.

“I hate seeing you like this. Please talk to me” he almost begged you

“Harrison…” your voice struggle as soon you pronounced his name.

“Please darling…tell me what’s goin’ on”

As a perfect angel, Tom was the one who saved you by interrupting this quick talk. You wiped away your tears with the end of your sleeve and run away to your room. Harrison sighed in despair. He didn't understand why you were running away from him like the plague.

“Dude, do you know why she's like that. What did I do? » He finally asked to Tom.

"I can't tell you Haz. She's the only one having the right to tell you about this"

"Bullshit. Fuck you all." Harrison said, frustrated.

Then he just quit, leaving the kitchen.

☙♡❧

Sunday came and Tom asked you all to spend the night with him before his LA trip the next evening. It was a normal night with friends. And despite your pent-up feelings and wanting to avoid Harrison at all costs, you didn't want to miss Tom, he was your friend.

There was only the usual gang: Harry, Tuwaine, Tom (obviously) and you. But the tension was felt within the group. The lingering unspoken words about your feelings for Harrison were beginning to weigh on all of your friendship. It was so bad that it hurts to stay in the same room as Harrison. All you could see was his constant happiness, this wonderful man he had always been but in a more radiant version of himself. And you weren't the cause of that. You hated it, you hated being selfish that much. You were ready to sacrifice your friendship with the young Netflix actor for two reasons: you wanted to protect yourself ... and you weren't ready to be that obstacle in the midst of Harrison and Grace's happiness.

You were in the kitchen with Harry, pretending to help him with drinks and snacks. The curly boy could see you dragging your feet, repeating like a mantra this phrase "come on, you can do it ... do it for Tom, it's his night. Don’t be selfish, you can make it." And you really wanted it ... have a good time with your friends.

Sometimes Harry felt guilty for introducing Gracie to Harrison. They worked together as set PA in 2018 and became close friends but not as close as you were with him. You considered him like your best friend. It made sense for him to feel a bit responsible for your broken heart. But you never said a word about it.

“I’m sorry, y/n” confessed Harry.

“For what?” you simply responded.

"For having hampered your happiness. I was stupid to introduce Grace to Harrison and ignore your feelings. I wanted to help my friend. "

"Bullshit Harry. Never apologize for that. You've been a great friend to Harrison."

"But not for you."

"Who cares?" you asked, trying to minimize your feelings

"Me ... you are one of my best friend y/n"

"Just like Harrison is your best friend. Don't apologize for making him happy. Fuck, I'm the one who should apologize." You said, with a tone of anger and despair in your voice

And that's how you crack, breaking in all your sensitivity. You couldn't hold back your tears from falling as you blasted everything that was on your heart. You don't even realize that Harrison is a few feet behind your back. The weight of your feelings, your anxieties explode in the kitchen as when a cup is dropped on the immaculate tiled floor.

“What I got to do to make him love me? What I got to do to make him care? Not as the sweet friend Harry. I’m deeply in love with him and it’s gonna drive me insane! What I got to do to make him want me? Huh Harry, can you tell me? All those question in my head…and no answer to that. And you know what? It's sad, sad situation…more than that it’s a shitty situation, because I'm getting away from him and it makes us sick. Because I'm unable to tell him why.”

“You just told me.” Harrison finally said.

You jumped for a second before you froze. Harry is caught off guard and rushes into the living room stammering an apology. You are trapped. You are trapped and you can hear the footsteps of your roommate coming closer to you, so close, that now you can feel his breath on the back of your neck. Gently, he places his hands on your arms and exerts pressure for you to face him.

"You love me"

"It depends ..." you replied with difficulty

"On what?"

"On what you heard before."

"Enough that you can't contradict me."

Her thin smile doesn't help you relax. Instead, you look down, admiring your two pairs of feet. You felt like being stripped naked and you didn't like that feeling. If you could have kept this secret in your grave. But now he knew and you felt even heavier than the Titanic.

"So ... is that it? Nothing more to tell me?"

"What do you want me to add to what you've already heard?"

"Sorry?" he tried.

"For what?"

"For what? y/n are you kidding me? Sorry for being distant with me, maybe? Sorry for hiding all these things from you? Sorry for not trusting our friendship to come to me and speak?" he exploded…

"What would that have been for, Harrison? You don't love me back…" you screamed back.

"I ... I’m ..."

"See, sorry seems to be the hardest word."

After that last ironic reply, silence fell in the kitchen. So was that it? Was that how your friendship was to end? The great giants of the universe had reserved this dramatic scene for you to break years of bonding. You didn't know how to get out of this situation. You didn't even know if there was a few more things to save. You were broken and had just spoiled the happiness of one of your best friends.

Harrison was silent. He seemed to be probing your body, your attitude, analyzing any gesture that might give him the opportunity to take a step towards you. But the solution was there, finding everything ... It was enough, for both of you, to swallow your pride.

"I'm sorry."

"For what?" you echo your previous conversation

"Sorry for not feeling the same as you. For not being who you want me to be to you."

"You know ... I don't hate her."

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Gracie. I don't hate her. She makes you really happy. I just hate the jealousy I feel towards her… I hate that I am not her. But I don’t hate her, she's a really good girl."

A small smile dawned on Harrison's lips, the blonde toyed nervously with his fingers and the ring he always wore as an accessory.

"Yeah ... yeah she's great."

"I'm really sorry ... about everything."

"It's ok. We don't control how we feel. I..I can understand"

"Yeah..."

"y/n?" he tried; a little bit shy about what he’s gonna ask.

"Mhmm?"

"Do you think we can be friends again?"

You bow your head, taking a minute to think. Was everything really broken? Were you going to be able to rebuild a solid friendship after this conversation? Were you going to be able to squeeze out your feelings? You sighed before plunging into those beautiful blue eyes that you loved so much.

"Maybe. I hope so with all my heart."

"I hope so too. And I hope you find someone like I found Grace."

"You can always dream. You dripping with love, it's impossible to find someone like you two."

"Don't despair. He might be closer than you think."

He winked at you and you looked at him confused. But after a few seconds, a smile appeared at the corner of your lips. No, you had no hope of him talking about him. But you were happy, because that little sentence opened the door for you to a bond that you were trying to find.

[mel-the-fangirl]

The Escort

Walter Marshall x Reader

Words: 2,064

Warnings: none

Happy super late Valentine’s, Cavillry! As usual, this is a very very late upload but in my defense, it does say in my bio that I am a procrastinator soooo... Anyway, I’m really excited about this miniseries because I love the movie (The Wedding Date, 2005) and I really wanted to write Walter, I hope I do him justice!

Feedback (good and bad!) means the world to me as rookie writer, so I hope you’ll like, reblog and leave me some replies!

---------------------------------------

You could not believe you were doing this. You just couldn't. But there you were doing it, even though your mind screeched at you to stop and save a little dignity for yourself.

The fact that you even considered doing this was already a serious loss of dignity points, so what the hell. People did this all the time, didn’t they? There wouldn’t be a whole network of people clumped into this app if it wasn’t a normal occurrence.

It just wasn’t a normal occurrence for you.

Once you filled your head with rationalisations to make yourself feel better, you took a deep breath and began browsing through what the great city of New York had to offer.

Z, 6’, loving hands, fit, athletic, good manners, for water sports, caramel complexion.

For water sports? What in the hell did that mean? And that single initial in place of an actual name? Serial killer vibes. No, thank you.

Lenny, 6’2”, pretty fit Italian, excellent dinner companion, all occasions catered.

Alright. Okay. Now we’re talking. Tall, European, excellent dinner companion equals to good conversationalist, accommodating. Lenny goes on the list of possibilities.

Terry, 6’, my soft voice will arouse you, my strong hands will pleasure you,  let me show you how a woman should be treated, hourly/overnight rates.

Oh no no no. Major creep vibes from Terry. That ad alone had you reaching for another long swig of wine.

Joey, 5’8”, are you into champagne?, bodybuilder, will treat you like a queen.

“If you like piña coladas…” you sang in not even remotely the right key, topping off your drink

Josh, 5’9”, I can make you feel sexy and wanted. Fit, sensual, strong.

“Well!” you exclaimed drunkenly, almost spilling wine on your couch, “Tough beans, Josh! I don’t need a man to make me feel sexy and wanted!” you faltered a bit, your drunk mind still seeing the holes in your logic

“I just… Need a man to help me not look like a tragic spinster in front of my family and my ex...”

With that thought fresh in your mind, you reached for some more wine.

The ads went on and on as you scrolled through your phone, it was all a little overwhelming, how were you going to make sure you weren't hiring some psychopathic serial killing pervert to pose as your date to your sister's wedding?

The groan you let out bounced off the walls of your apartment. The reality of your situation was sinking in little by little. 

Yes. You were hiring a male escort for your sister's wedding. It was your baby sister's wedding, by the way. You were a hundred percent aware that what you were doing was completely and utterly pathetic but you’ve already weighed the pros and cons in your head countless times.

Showing up alone: pitying looks, whispering behind your back, having to face ex by yourself, staggering levels of embarrassment.

Showing up with handsome -hired- date: mother can finally get off your back, date is more handsome than ex, ex will want to shrivel up and die, no one will know date is male escort except you and him.

Now, let’s break down some of the guests just for the sake of being thorough. 

There’s your slightly overbearing mother (slightly meaning every call you have with her opens with the question: “how's your love life, dear?” or “I have the most amazing man to set you up with!”), all of her judgy eagle-eyed friends (mostly rich widows whose sons your mom shamelessly shoves your way), your extended family (some terrifyingly old school great aunts and uncles who will definitely ask if you’re married and smile sympathetically when you say you’re not), and last but certainly not the least, Jeffrey, your ex-fiancé (best man, but apparently not the best man for you, his words not yours).

"Lordy fuck." you exhaled hard, chugging your wine straight from the bottle

How on earth did you get here? Sitting alone in your apartment, working your way through your second bottle of wine (or third? Who was keeping count?), clicking on ads that spoke of "hot single males in your area" waiting to meet you.

Would it be fair to pin it all on the end of your engagement?

Picturing that moment, you decided that it was only fair. Those were five years of your life you would never get back, you were prepared to sign on for more but, yeah.

You were blindsided, that's the only way to describe it. All the while, you thought that you and Jeffrey were on the same page, at the same place in life. You were the golden couple, the couple that all the other couples wished they could be, when you two walked past, girlfriends would give their boyfriends a slap on the shoulder that meant, "Why can't we be more like them?"

It was so out of nowhere, one minute you were discussing wedding cake options over dinner, then suddenly you're putting the ring in his palm, completely in shock. 

After that, you threw yourself into your work despite the fact that you were already a budding workaholic to begin with. That's how you ended up earning six figures a year. 

Six figure salary, check. Doing pretty well in life all things considered, check.

But even with all that, there weren't any conversations over casseroles and cobblers about your many achievements. Nope, your mother and her friends would much rather discuss their worries that you would essentially, die alone.

Your little sister, Amy, getting married before you didn't exactly help to put a lid on all the chatter. And with Jeffrey being the best man? And you being maid of honour? 

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

Maybe you could make up an excuse believable enough to get you off the hook so you wouldn’t have to go?

Were you really thinking about bailing on your little sister’s wedding? If she wasn’t taking cues from your mother, it would be the only one she ever had.

Not one of your finest moments as a sibling.

With the complications of your situation fully realised, you took to reading the ads with a little more effort. Luckily, you didn’t have to look for long.

Nick, 6’, male, tall, good looking, strong build. You will not be disappointed.

The ad was considerably less flashy than the others but you supposed that’s what drew you to it in the first place. It was understated, simple, and his ad wasn’t entirely made up of overcompensating flexing pics.

Mostly because he didn’t need them.

Call off the search, send the boys home. You had a winner here!

Staring up at you from your phone screen was the most handsome man you have ever seen in your life. Literally.

A mane of thick, artfully disheveled curly hair, eyes that were a light shade of blue that had a sort of dark intensity and intelligence that you could spend days trying to understand, and a smile. Oh, that smile was absolutely suckerpunching. It was odd though, something in your head was telling you that this man did not smile often.

You couldn’t tell if the warmth blooming in your chest and creeping towards your cheeks was from all the wine or from examining this prime specimen. Jeez Louise!

“Phew!” you fanned yourself upon stumbling on a photo of him crossing his arms in a tank top. Good God, you hoped he had a license for those guns!

You had to set your phone down for a minute to think things through although it seemed absolutely nuts that you had to think twice at all. It’s just that after the initial excitement and hormones wore off, it was becoming more and more evident that this man was too good to be true.

Just look at him! Were there actually men that looked like that? And why didn’t they live closer to you? A quick sweep of his profile placed him in Minneapolis.

What were the crime rates like there? And did they have a high rate of murders relating to escort services?

Before you could even google anything related to that, you stopped yourself. If you kept at this rate, you would never get anything done! Finally, after a methodical deliberation (aka ogling the pictures on his ad), you saved Nick’s contact number to your phone.

Aaand that’s as far as you’d go for the night. You could call him tomorrow when you weren’t a floundering drunk. It was like your mother always said, “Always be sober for a business transaction, but anything else calls for a cocktail.”

-------------------------

The following morning, you sat at your little breakfast nook, eggs still piping hot and untouched, and a hangover in full effect. You’ve been staring at the phone number for so long, you could say it in your sleep.

Come on, Y/N, the wedding is five freaking days away.

What if this guy was fully booked? You didn’t want to spend five days surrounded by family with Mr. my-soft-voice-will-arouse-you, did you?

You slammed your finger down on the call icon and stuck the phone to your ear. Your heart beat faster and faster with every ring and your palms became so slick with sweat that you almost dropped your phone a couple of times. 

Maybe you should have taken your mother up on the multiple occasions that she wanted to set you up with someone. Alright, on second thought, you didn’t really want to be with someone who only looked good on paper but was actually an insufferable mama’s boy.

“Hello?” a male voice answered, catching you off-guard

Oh, God. Okay, you’re really doing this.

“Yes, hi! Hi. Uh, I’m looking for Nick!” you chirped, in a startled high pitched squeak you didn’t dare recognise as your own

The silence on the other end was starting to make you sweat behind the knees. It suddenly dawned on you that you didn’t mention any specifics.

“Uh, sorry! I got this number from the, uh, the ad. I’m looking for Nick?”

“Yes! Yes, that’s right, but Nick isn’t in right now. This is his manager.”

Was that a good sign? That a male escort had a manager? Did all male escorts have managers? You clearly didn’t know enough about this stuff.

“It’s a pleasure, Mister..?”

There was another beat of silence before the person on the other line answered, you tried your hardest not to overthink about what that could have meant.

“Foley! I’m Foley, Nick’s manager.” Mr. Foley’s voice returned to your ear, sounding much too bright for your liking. 

Christ, what were you, a cop? To be honest, you were exhausted. Despite all the alcohol in your system last night, you barely got any sleep. You spent the rest of the night reading through some reviews of Nick’s service as an escort.

He had a glittering five star rating.

One woman hired him to pose as her husband at a high school reunion and by the end of the night, she ended up proposing to him. He respectfully declined and even bought her dinner afterwards.

That review alone was enough to convince you that you would be in good hands. So, it was time to buckle down, swallow the nerves, and handle your business like the adult you were.

“Mr. Foley,” you shook your hair out and put on your professional voice. “I’d like to book your client for five days, give or take. I need a plus one for a wedding. Is he available to leave on the-”

“Please hold. I’ll check his schedule.”

“Oh. But I didn’t mention when I-”

“He’s available. Would you prefer to pick him up at JFK or will he meet you at your place of residence?”

“Oh. Uh, I guess I could pick him up. Do I pay for his ticket or..?” you were feeling a teensy bit of whiplash at how fast this was all going

There was some rustling on the other line and the muffled sounds of bickering. You tried not to let that concern you.

“We’ll handle that, Ms. Y/L/N. We have your number, we’ll be in touch for further details. Good bye.”

The line went dead and you were left staring at your phone in confusion. Did you tell him your name?

[tothemeadow]

hi!! um, since you're open for requests, could i maybe ask for some spicy nsfw for akaza and an f!reader with marechi? preferably one who'd actually be willing to give a little blood? i'd love to see how he reacts to the temptation, considering his reservations with women >v>;; i hope that's ok! if not i totally understand, and thank you regardless for your lovely writing, i've been really enjoying reading through your work <3

Alright, so this request really caught my attention. Back before the Mugen Train hit theatres, I was thirsting over Akaza with somebody and I had this idea of an Akaza dry humping scenario stuck in my head ever since. 

This was my excuse to finally write it 👀

‘the taste of marechi’ / Akaza x Reader

warnings: NSFW, semi-public sex, blood drinking, dry humping/grinding, slight impregnation kink

words: 2,349

-

The marechi. The most delicious, powerful blood a human can have. It’s the forbidden fruit that only so few demons are blessed to have a taste of.

It’s what flows through your veins.

But of course you don’t know, since you’re a lowlife human. Your lifespan is short, your life itself dull. You aren’t aware of the sweet, sweet, liquid gold flowing in your body. You don’t how much demons want you, to taste you.

To devour you.

Now, some demons are utter heathens like the others. Some have standards. Take Akaza, for instance; as he watches you trek through the nighttime streets, he could easily jump you, rip your heart out with his teeth. Why you’re walking alone at night is a mysterious unbeknownst to him. You should certainly know better – there’s more predators than just demons that stalk the night.

It’s a simple rule of his not to eat women. There’s no way for you to defend yourself, for one, and the fact that his food supply comes from women is another point entirely. He tells himself he should just walk away and let you be. That’s what he should do, but his body refuses to leave.

In the distance, he sees a shrouded figure stagger onto the same street you’re walking on. Perched on the sloping roof of a nearby house, he’s essentially able to the entirety of the small town. As the figure draws closer, he can tell that it’s a middle-aged man. His clunky movements tell Akaza that he is clearly drunk. Akaza scoffs at that; oh, to be a pathetic human, having to rely substances to feel a single damn thing.

“Hey, doll!” the man suddenly calls out. Akaza curses under his breath – he must’ve seen you.

Glancing up, you see a strange man walking in your direction. Even from where Akaza sits, he can see your body tense up. Alright, that’s enough for him to spring into action.

Jumping from the roof to another, Akaza draws closer, his eyes locked on the creepy man. He’s already dangerously close to you, a drunken slur of compliments and suggestions spilling from his gross mouth. You slink away, trying not to make any sudden movements. The man follows right after you, his hands extended before him; you screech as he grabs onto your arms, a scowl crossing his face as you struggle in his hold.

A growl rips itself out of Akaza’s throat as he lands on the ground. A cloud of dust kicks up around him from the sheer force. He watches as you squirm in the man’s hold, struggling to break free. The man promptly slaps a meaty hand over your mouth and curses loudly when you bite down on his palm.

Akaza’s on him in seconds; he rips the man off of you, a snarl cracking his face. The man cries out as Akaza throws him like he’s nothing more than a rag doll. He grunts as his back collides with the siding of a building, a sickening snap filling the night air. Akaza turns to your trembling form. You stare at him, eyes wide, your hands clamped over your mouth.

“He was going to take advantage of you,” Akaza grunts. “Come on; I’ll take you home.” Quickly taking your hand in his, he drags you away from the unconscious – maybe even dead – man.

“Hang on!” you yelp.

It’s the first time he’s hearing your voice, but Akaza immediately decides he already likes the sound of it. He complies to your request and comes to a complete stop.

You yank your hand out of his grip. “Who are you? And what did you-“ You cut yourself off as Akaza turns around, golden irises and blue sclera rendering you speechless. Your eyes dart over the dark blue markings of his face, follow them down his body. You audibly swallow. “What are you…?”

Akaza scoffs. “Somebody who just saved you from some creep, obviously.” He rolls his eyes. “Damn weaklings. You’re lucky you’re a woman.”

You gawk at him. “And what’s that supposed to mean? One moment you’re saving me from some stranger, and then the next you’re ridiculing me. I didn’t ask for your help.”

“So you were just going to let him have his way with you?” Akaza quirks an eyebrow. You frown in return but don’t say anything. “That’s what I thought.”

You tongue the inside of your cheek in irritation. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Akaza doesn’t miss the way you stare at his muscled arms as he crosses them over his chest. “I’m a demon, sweetheart.” He cocks his head, his pink eyelashes fluttering. “Or do I have to spell it out?”

A demon? Seriously? But those were only a myth!

Your eyes trail of his markings once more. Everything about him seems inhuman: the markings, the colors of his eyes, his hair. The sheer amount of strength he holds is a different matter entirely.

“Do you have a name?” you croak.

Okay, now that takes Akaza by surprise. Normally, he’d only tell people his name after he’s deemed them worthy. You’re nowhere as strong as him, and from your reaction alone he can tell you’re not a part of the corps committed to taking his head.

“Why do you want to know?” His eyes lock onto the way you bite onto your bottom lip.

“…So I can thank you.”

Akaza’s eyes dart back up to yours. “You want to thank me?”

Slowly, you nod. “You saved me for a reason, right? You could’ve easily killed us both…” You wring your hands, your brows knitting together.

Akaza realizes that you’re right. He could kill you at any moment he wished, but he chose not to. He still doesn’t want to. Your words roll around in his head; he genuinely doesn’t know what to say. With every minute that passes, you visibly grow more nervous. Your fingers clutch onto the fabric of your yukata, and your teeth mindlessly gnaw on your lip.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. He’s ready to tell you to stop. Only pathetically weak people act like this. And he’s ready to tell you off, he really is, but then that smell smacks him right in the face. It’s rich and sweet, just like the world’s finest wine. His mouth waters as it fills his nostrils, makes his head spin.

Marechi.

His stare is intense as you release your bottom lip, tiny droplets of blood sticking to the plump flesh. Heat stirs in the bottom of his abdomen. He stands rigid, his breathing turning heavy.

“Akaza?” you ask, voice gentle. You sound concerned. Your pink tongue flicks out, wipes away the blood.

No, Akaza wants to roar. It’s mine.

Without fully realizing it, he frantically grabs onto your hand. Opening your mouth in a silent question, a surprised yelp escapes instead as Akaza drags you between two houses and away from any possible prying eyes. You grunt as your back meets a wall.

“Akaza, what’s wrong-“

Swooping in, Akaza promptly presses his sturdy body against yours as he captures your lips. Your eyes shoot wide in surprise, but then they quickly fall shut as he does wonders with your mouth. He eagerly sucks on your bottom lip, moaning as more droplets of your blood break the surface and meet his tongue. With one hand on your hip and the other pressed against the wall behind you, Akaza kisses you hungrily, passionately. Your hands scramble to clutch onto his bare shoulders, desperate for something to hang onto.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Akaza pants as he forces himself to break away. You stare after him, a dazed expression on your face. Your lips are swollen, tinted red from both your blood and the force of his kiss. He moans at the sight, a familiar flame sparking in his abdomen.

“Akaza,” you breathe. You yank on his haori, urging him to come closer. His kiss is intoxicating, leaving you drunk and craving for more. Guiding his lips back on yours, you clutch on the short strands of his hair. Furiously, he sucks on your bottom lip, drawing more of your delicious blood.

A nagging voice in the back of his head tells him that he should stop. It’s against his morals to hurt women. But he’s not really hurting you, is he? He’s only drinking your blood, nothing more. He takes back the comment about humans having to rely on substances to feel anything. Your blood is doing things to him; his own blood is spiking in temperature, his heart is thrumming against his ribs, and – oh gods­ – that heavy feeling lying at the bottom of his guts.

His hips buck on their own, his growing arousal nudging your hip. He groans at the friction, the sound deep and husky. You swallow it entirely, your fingernails scratching his scalp. A frustrated keen slips from your lips as he pulls away again; this time, though, he’s frantically yanking the material of your yukata up.

Are you seriously going to do this? You don’t even know the guy! Hell, you’re positive he killed somebody! Yet you can’t deny your own heavy breathing nor the slick gathering between your thighs. And the look he gives you is so sinful, his strange eyes shining with lust. You let him do what he wants, bunching the bottom half of your yukata up to your hips. You moan as his cock grinds against your quivering pussy.

Slathering open-mouthed kisses all over your neck, his hips keep up their relentless pace, his cock practically fucking you through his pants. Your undergarments are completely soaked through; you’re probably getting the front of his pants wet, but you don’t care. You follow his pace, grinding your pussy desperately against his cock.

You’re so dizzy, high off the pleasure he’s giving you. His teeth skim the surface of your skin, but you can feel the hesitation in his movements. You whimper in need, wishing he’d just do it already. “Bite me,” you murmur. “Fuck, Akaza, bite me.”

Akaza openly pants into your neck. “I can’t,” he grunts. His cock kicks in his pants. “Fuck, you smell so good.”

“Akaza,” you whine. “Gods, please, bite me, bite me, devour me.”

A growl emits from the depths of his chest as he gives into his carnal desire; heat bursts in your neck along with the sharp pierce of his teeth. He’s careful only to break the surface of your skin, but fuck it’s enough to have your delicious blood flowing into his waiting mouth.

Desperately clawing at his back and shoulders, you shamelessly grind against him even faster. Your eyes nearly roll into the back of your head from it all. Throaty little moans leave his mouth as he drinks your blood, his hands grabbing onto your thighs and hauling you upwards. You quickly snake your legs around his lithe hips, the head of his cock straining against the fabric of his pants.

“So good, Akaza, oh my gods,” you babble.

“Gods dammit,” Akaza snarls as he yanks himself away from your neck. He holds you up with a single hand as the other pushes his pants down, his cock kicking up and smacking against his stomach. Like the rest of him, his cock is covered in dark blue markings. You don’t get much time to appreciate it, though; pushing your undergarments to the side, he slips his cock into you with one brutal thrust.

He bounces you on his cock, his mouth finding its spot on your neck. You moan loudly at his ministrations, the head of his cock reaching far and hitting against the sweet spongy area. Your nails tear into the skin of his shoulders; if it weren’t for that, you’re sure you’d float away. His cock is deliciously thick, fills you up so good every time your velvety walls suck him in.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” he growls. You answer him in a fit of stuttering. “Your pussy is as good as your blood,” he says into your ear. “Shit, you’re so fucking tight.” He ravages your body, your slick emitting sinfully wet noises with each stroke of his cock. “I’d fuck a baby into you if I could.”

Throwing your head back, you moan loudly. Your walls quiver around him, your orgasm coming closer and closer. As if sensing your growing need, Akaza drops a hand between the two of you, his fingers seeking out your clit. He rubs harsh circles into the nub, pinches it between his fingers. You clench down around his cock, a mantra of his name echoing into the night.

“More, Akaza, more!” you beg.

Akaza’s hips are bound to leave bruises on you if the force of his thrusts is anything to go by. You convulse around him, your toes curling as you cry his name out. You cum around his cock, your slick going everywhere. The front of his pants and your thighs are completely soaked.

“Fuck, did you just squirt?” Akaza groans. Sinking his teeth into you once more, he grunts as he shoots his load into you. Warmth floods your system, and the head of Akaza’s cock pushes it further into you yet. A mixture of slick and cum drips between your legs, soils his pants and the ground below.

He’s breathing raggedly as he finally halts his thrusting motions. You shake from sensitivity, your thighs trembling from the strain of clinging onto his hips. Akaza helps you down and immediately pulls his small haori off; crouching onto the ground, he slings one of your legs over his shoulder. He curses as he takes in the sight of your puffy lips covered in white.

“Fuck, that’s the best thank you gift I’ve ever received,” he tells you as he gently cleans you up.

You sigh at the feeling of his fingers against your slit. “I can do a lot more than that.”

Golden irises focus on you. “Is that a statement or an invitation?”

You flash him a tiny smile. “Take me home and I’ll show you.”

[bump1nthen1ght]

Waltz of the Vampire (Vampire x Reader)

Pairing: Fem!Fat!Reader/Fem!Vampire

Genre: Fantasy (Vaguely Historical/Renaissance)

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3469 words

Summary: You forcibly attend the ball of the rich family that has just moved to town, unexpectedly finding comfort with one of their daughters.

Request: Hey!! I love your writing a lot! Would you consider an elf or a vampire whatever suits your fancy with a fat fem!reader. I try hard not to hate my body but it can be really hard sometimes and I know a lot of people go through it not just plus size folks but... idk it’s my weakness and a huge comfort. Anyway I hope you have a awesome day!!!

A/N: I really loved writing this request, and after I finish Thicker than Water, I might make a part two.

Serena has been to a lot of parties. Too many, in her opinion, even over her 326-year span of life. Her matriarch, “Mother” as she is called by her and the coven, believes there is no such thing.

Every move they make is celebrated by a grand ball, invitations sent out to every available person. Mother claims it’s the best way for them to fit in, to hide in the crowd rather than the shadows.

Serena understands this, she’s seen it work wonder for their reputation time and time again, but she still does not like them.

Tonight is especially dreadful, a bad hunt the day before and a quick spat with her “brother” enough to sour the whole get together. Serena spends most of the night eluding suitors and dance partners, embracing a mysterious persona so she can enjoy some alone-time.

As she looks around at the dance floor, Serena concludes that she is not a fan of the new fashion statements of this era. A bit too strict, too formal, with precise lacings and starchy hoop skirts. It makes the dance floor too stuffy in her opinion, no room to twirl your fabric or move your limbs.

She sips on her special red wine, eye’s lazily perusing the hall for her siblings, hoping to gain some company, when she spots you. Selena is brought to a pause, mid-drink, as your embroidered skirt glimmers, catching the light as you twirl it across the room. Her eyes widen, determination peaked when she notices you don’t have a partner.

How beautiful.

----------

Oooh, I love this song.

You hum, unconsciously bouncing from side to side as your favorite piano piece begins to play. It’s a piece you have on your list to learn in the future, bubbly and cheerful with a bumpy melody and the option for a fun violin accompaniment.

The energy of the music quickly translates to the dance floor, where couple’s begin to giggle and improvise amidst the strict waltz and counted-steps. It’s a shame that it’s such a good piece because for the first time of the night, you really wish someone would ask you to dance.

When the news the MacArthur’s were throwing a huge welcoming ball had reached your household, your mother quickly began throwing together preparations for you to attend. You had sighed, set your feet in a preemptive ice bath, and ready for another boring night.

As a former socialite herself, from girlhood you were forced to attend party after party. While it had done as intended and transformed your sister into a perfect lady, it had the opposite effect on you. The stiffness of the hoop skirts, the suits, and all the damn people always stuffed up your throat and flushed your face. With your sister as the shining star, it was easy for you to slip into the shadows, and avoid the preening of your mother’s etiquette lessons.

Now, as a growing woman with more and more free-time, you used all of your abilities to avoid huge social gatherings. You found your place amongst small gatherings with local friends, sneaking wine from the cellar and telling stories in the freezing cold around a fire

But as the music increases it’s tempo, with flourishing skirts and plenty of laughter, you can’t help but lose yourself in the joviality of the gathering. The fancy dresses, the even fancier alcohol, and the decadent ballroom had you wondering if you had been missing out a bit.

If only Margaret and Min-Young were here, now that would be a party.

You giggle into your champagne, heels still tapping against the hardwood and hand slightly tossing your skirt back and forth. You easily fall back into your reclusive corner to avoid embarrassing eyes who may glance upon your solitude. But a tiny yelp escapes you when your heel accidentally digs into a foot. You whip around, faced already flushed red with embarrassment.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry! I didn’t look where...I was…”

Behind you, dressed in a dark purple satin gown, is Serena Macarthur herself. She stands a solid two heads above you, hair done up in an immaculate up do and two shimmering ruby earrings dangling from her ears. Her face is serene, lips curled up in a bit of a smirk. You quickly jerk away and give a half-decent curtsy, noticing her beautiful black dancing shoes which you just stomped on. “I apologize, Miss Macarthur, I can’t believe I acted so foolishly. I didn’t realize-”

“Oh, there is no need to worry darling. I’m alright, no harm done.” She says, her voice low and musical, almost like a thrumming bass line. Her gloved hand is placed on your shoulder, the other slides up your neck and tilts up your chin to meet her eye line.

My god, she is stunning.

Her eyes are a color you’ve never seen before, not dissimilar to the sharp gemstones in her earrings. Serena’s makeup, simple yet sharp, does everything to accentuate the cardinal-red of her irises. You can feel the simmering blush heating up your skin as she continues to stare. “I was actually coming this way to speak to you, flower. It’s my fault really, for sneaking up on you.”

You shake your hands, nearly spilling over the champagne in your glass. “Oh no, it’s no problem. Like you said, no harm done”. You force a giggle, hastily taking a sip of your champagne. “May I ask what you wished to speak of?”

Serena smiles, a smirk which is just as sharp as the rest of her, though her eyes betray no slyness or ill-will. “I was going to enquire about your dress. I noticed it from across the room and was stunned by how enchanting it is.”

“Oh! Well, thank you very much.” You blush, unconsciously rubbing your finger over the embroidered flowers on the skirt. “I actually-”

“Whoops!”

In less than a second, you find yourself right next to Serena, as a drunk dancer trips and spills his drink all over the floor. You blink, brain not even fully processing what just happened, as you notice Serena’s arm on your elbow and the red wine splattered where you stood just moments ago.

Did she move me? But when-how did she-

“Sorry! Sorry about that.” The man slurs, sheepishly scratching the back of his head. His partner, a distressed young woman, grabs his elbow and forces him to stand straight. “Guess I’ve had too much.” His embarrassed partner chokes out a laugh as he continues to sway.

“Yes, it seems you have. Make sure to fix that, soon.”

Serena’s tone is barely above talking volume, but holds a command like a powerful shout, Both of the dancers jerk with surprise, furiously bowing as the female drags the man out of the hall.

Serena sighs, rubbing her forehead with exasperation. She turns toward you, smiles back on her face.

“Would you like to take this to the garden? Seems the party is getting a bit too rowdy for good conversation.”

You nod, still a bit befuddled by Serena’s quick mood change and even quicker reflexes. But you link elbows when she holds hers up in invitation nonetheless, following her outside.

---------

The Macarthur estate is beautiful, as expected, and the garden fits that image to a T. Even in the moonlight you can see the finely cultivated roses bushes which decorate it, along with the gleaming marble fountain and sitting space under an ornately decorated gazebo. The two of your heels click along the paved path as you walk towards the center, your half-empty drink still in hand.

“You were sadly interrupted, but you were mentioning something about the dress?”

You nod, taking another long sip of your champagne, hoping a little alcohol may temper your thoughts.

“Yes, I was just going to say that I made it myself.” Serena’s eyes grow wide, eyes darting up and down your attire, and you feel yourself fluster. “It’s a tradition in my family, you see. My great-great-grandmother was very diligent when it came to teaching her kids how to sew, even the boys, and it became such an insisted upon skill that all her children ended up making their own evening clothing for special occasions. It ended up filtering down that every child makes one special outfit themselves, for what occasion it doesn’t particularly matter, but something thatt is uniquely you.” You pull up the end of your skirt, pointing out the flower pattern. “I’ve always had a fondness for gardening, so I tried to incorporate that into my dress. Plus,” You smooth out your skirt, “Most party dresses I’ve found are a bit too restrictive for my tastes, I wanted something I could really get into some fun with, y’know?” You force a giggle, immediately wondering if that comment was a bit too salacious for high-society talk. Serena simply smirks, letting out a low chuckle of her own.

“I wholeheartedly agree. May I take a closer look?” She gestures to your skirt and you hastily nod. The two of you take a seat by the fountain, Serena’s glove accidentally brushing against your calf as she picks up your skirt. You try and control your shiver from the simple contact. She hums admirably as she runs along your work. “Such incredibly done Sunflowers, the detail you put in is astounding. And these are forget-me-nots, correct?”

“Oh yes, those are my favorite kind.” Serena’s hands continue to run along the linework, following the bumps and dips of each flower petal. “As you can see I had trouble with the lavender, what with the petals being so small.” Serena shakes her head, a fond smile on her face. She looks up at you, forcing you to hastily act as if you weren’t admiring her face.

“The work you put in makes them twice as beautiful, mistakes be damned.” You blush even harder, throwing your hand and taking a final sip of your champagne.

“Thank you very much, but I have a long way to go.”

Serena’s hand hasn’t left your skirt, now resting on her lap as she continues to look at you. You swallow the last droplets of champagne down your throat, trying to fill the silence.

“The band is incredible, did you hire them locally?” You stutter, setting down your glass. Serena continues to fiddle with your skirt.

“Some of them, yes, but the violinist is actually my older sister, Marigold.”

“Wow! Make sure to give her my compliments, she’s very talented.” Serena nods, before her eyes dart down your toes. As the music echoes out of the hall and into the garden, you had unconsciously begun to tap your toes to the beat. When she glances at you, she can see your head slightly bobbing, a content look painting your face. A small smile forces one on to hers.

How cute. She internally sighs, noting how soft the skin of your cheek looks, the nice curve of your jaw, and your adorable noise. The pulsing blood which would run down your throat, the crimson looking devine against your exposed collarbone and dripping below your breast line.

She stands up abruptly, forcing those evocative thoughts out of her mind. You were quite cute and good company, someone Serena would like to get to know. Sometimes the crossed wires of her brain confused attraction for bloodlust, mistaking the butterflies for hunger pains.. She is almost embarrassed; It was one of the common hurdles new vampires had to overcome, a bridge she thought she crossed years ago

You startle, looking up at her with innocent doe eyes. Serena holds out her hand, ignoring how she can hear your steady pulse, unintentionally matching the beat of the music.

“May I have this dance, fair lady?” She almost whispers, bowing slightly.

Your face flushes, nodding without a word, and slipping your bare hand into her glove.

Serena boldly grabs your hip and presses you against her, quickly taking the lead. Your brain fervently recalls all of your formal dancing lessons, pressing your head into her chest as she takes you along.

In her arms, following her perfected steps, that slithering self-consciousness sneaks back into your brain. Your logic tries to reason with it;

You wanted to dance, but now that this beautiful woman has gladly offered her hand, you want to stop?

But your insecurities are louder, screaming about every trip and every spare touch. This close, you can feel her firm musculature through the dress, spotting the hint of her bicep as she leads you. With her dainty and elegant hand on your side, you feel twice aware of your size underneath, every imperfection concealed by your dress.

You had fallen in love with this dress when making it, but had always been hesitant to wear it. You feared that once you put it on, that beautiful picture in your mind would shatter, leaving you forlorned of what could never be. Not with you wearing it, you had thought, avoiding your own mirror as you left.

“Something on your mind, flower?”

Serena whispers into your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. Your back jerks and contorts back into position, almost stepping your foot on hers. You shake your head furiously.

“Oh no! I-I just-” You stumble, trying to find an easy excuse, but are stopped when you take a look at her face.

She’s resplendent, even up close, not a hint of makeup to be seen. But across her cheeks, slightly faded from what looks like years away from the sun, are-

“My, you have such wonderful freckles.” You murmur, without a second thought.

Unbeknownst to you, if Serena could blush, she would. But the scrunched up look of embarrassment is telling, hinting that maybe this beautiful heiress has her own things she hides away.

“W-well, thank you.” She hastily utters, eyes averting from yours. It’s uncharacteristically shy and you can’t control the giggle that escapes you.

To give her some reprieve, you take your eyes off her face and trail them around the garden. They catch on the fountain, where the contrasting colors of your dresses stand out amidst the black. In the reflection, the two of you could not look more different. Serena stands a head above you, slim-fitted dark purple dress pulled across her curves, while your bright green dress cinches at the waist, flowing out like the flower's detailed skirt. It blows and beckons with every movement, brushing occasionally against your form and showing off the contours of your body.

Damn, you think, we look hot.

Just as fickle as it’s counterpoint, confidence quickly overtakes your mind, blocking out the noise of your doubt. You hold tight to your beautiful partner, in the beautiful dress that you made, and allow the happiness of this moment to exist uninterrupted, however short it may be.

The music increases its pace, the smooth line of a saxophone bringing up the energy. With a new burst of energy, you allow yourself to improvise amidst the  strict waltz. You lift your weight off your heels and try to glide from step to step, like the fast-paced tango dancers your mother once took you to see. Serena matches your enthusiasm, gripping your waist, even lifting you a few inches off the ground when a particular chord strikes. Her fingers slightly tickle your ribs, an ecstatic giggle escaping you and you falter a misstep. Your mind almost stops, embarrassed by your stumble and that insecurity sneaking back in, but Serena follows your new tempo with grace, urging you along with improvisation.

Your bodies follow the music with abandon, ordered steps devolving into impassioned stamps and twists, Serena twirling you around as the violin and piano sing from afar. Your heart and mind are running on adrenaline. It’s like when you were little, letting out your energy in any way possible. Serena’s laughter is magical and for once you don’t detest your awkward snorts and chuckles.

As the music slows, the two of you near-tumble back into the fountain, taking a seat with heaving chests.

“Whew, I haven’t danced like that in a while!” You say, brushing a stray hair back behind your ear. Serena nods, patting her stomach as she continues to laugh.

“Me as well. I forgot how fun it could be, when you’re not counting your steps.”

“Oh good, you do that too. I always wondered how no one got dreadfully bored just saying 1-2-3 over and over.” You mutter, taking in a deep breath and patting her thigh. Your other hand drifts down to the fountain water, letting your fingertips brush across the top and inadvertently catching your reflection once more.

It’s not the most flattering angle, your shoulders slump and the water slightly distorted, and those intruding thoughts try to slip in once more.

Oh shut up, let us have this.

Your logic sighs, batting it away without another second thought.

As the two of you sit, your energy eventually begins to drift back down, your muscles slightly tired from that short burst of impact. You sneak a glance at Serena.

While her outfit is still immaculate, her updo shows the smallest signs of dishelevement, curly black hairs falling down above her ears. In a way, she’s more beautiful than ever.

“Me and some friends are actually getting together next week. The shepherd's daughter, Violet, is getting married and they are throwing a little shindig at the barn to celebrate. Do you want to come?”

Serena looks up at you, slightly surprised, face furrowed with that hidden bashfulness. But she nods nonetheless, shooting you a bright smile.

Still high off your dance, you just barely miss her large fangs, which glimmer under the moonlight.

You smile back, only startled when the large bell tower from  the center of town chimes. Your head looks towards it’s large face and back towards the moon position. You’d guess it was midnight. Seems the two of you had lost track of time while dancing.

“Well, I should probably be going.” You say, standing up and brushing off your skirt. “I do have some gardening to attend to in the morning, going to need a solid amount of sleep. But,” You say, eyes demure and locked on your toes as Serena stands up, “I had a lot of fun tonight. More than usual, I would say.” You giggle, twirling a strand of your hair. Serena hmms in agreement.

“Me as well, flower. Your company has been the highlight of my night.”

In a bold move, Serena grabs your hand and lays a kiss on the back of it. Her eyes radiate that power and certainty from before, crimson irises shining in the night. Your blush crawls its way back up your neck.

“I-I can say the same.”

The two of you stay in that position for a moment, Serena pulling away her lips but keeping a lingering hold on your hand. Your heart thrums in your chest, while hers is deathly silent. Neither of you wants to be the first to pull away.

“I-uhm.” You stumble, hand still locked in place.

Now’s as good a time as any. You suppose.

In a quick movement, your hand loosens from Serena’s grasp and you give a quick peck on her cheek. In another, you have pulled away, sprinting towards your carriage.

“I-I’ll see you Saturday!” You shout, nearly tripping over a rose bush.

Left behind in the garden stands Serena, cold hand pressed against the burning skin of her cheek. Your kiss shot through her body like a lightning strike, almost jolting her frozen-heart alight.

That night, Serena goes for a hunt. She barely takes the time to change out of her formal clothes, nearly tearing the delicate lacework of her dress. Her claws catch on her gloves and almost rip apart, her heels scuffing the floor as she kicks them off and to the side. Her undead body is thrumming with life, untapped energy that longs to get out.

Her thoughts run a mile a minute, forcibly distracted by the Grizzly bear she currently has in a choke hold. It puts up a good fight, but Serena is running off of pure bloodlust.

At least, she thinks it’s bloodlust. A deeper part of her knows it's something else; The sparking fire of something new and a little bit frightening.

The last time she was personally invited to a ball, an event, a ceremony was less than a couple months ago. When you hold a position such as hers, look like her, they are common occurrences.

But to a party? Not a politically motivated meetup, but a genuine, let your hair down, party? Well, she hadn’t been to one since she was a youngling of 150.

And for the first time in a while, she is excited.

[genshin-scenarios]

To Pierce a Masquerade - Chapter 1

A/N: What better time to post the first chapter of this than on his birthday? Yes, I finally did it - this is the Diluc manhwa-esque fic I talked about, and will be continued with more chapters about once a month!

Warnings/Notes:

Reader is implied to be female, though it isn't explicitly noted for the most part. Slight mentions of alcohol!

Underneath the many chandeliers of the ballroom were figures that twirled like gems in the light. They're clothed in the finest silks and garments, though with the curious addition of masquerade masks, as was the theme of the ball tonight.

You’ve retired to the sidelines for a break from dancing, finding yourself a drink to wind down with. It was a pleasant wine, slightly tart in flavour while not being too dry - and knowing of the past mishaps that occurred with a certain baron’s son, its alcohol content was likely on the low side. Tipsiness, when controlled, was quite regular by the end of nights like these, but no one wanted to witness such a spectacle again; Not when it ended with almost everyone doused in barrels of aged vintage…

Gods, you weren’t even sure how much of the rumors were true, from how drunk you’d gotten yourself - and you weren’t even one that took their alcohol carelessly!

Memories aside, masquerades were the crown prince’s favored theme for events, and as such, were held at least once a year in his honor. He, as word said, liked the anonymity of donning a mask, with only one’s attire as a semblance of a clue to an identity.

He found it fun - and while you’d initially thought the addition of such an accessory was frivolous, you’d begun to see the appeal of it. Even if you couldn’t shed the weight of your noble blood on these nights, you at least would have the freedom of mingling without thoughts of your specific image in mind, as long as you dressed the part.

The music began to swell as the guests waltzed and spun amongst one another - it was time for a new collection of songs, and the most appropriate moment to rotate partners, or join the sea of dancers if one wished.

You contemplated the latter, but who might you dance with? Mingling with unfamiliar faces was fine, but it wasn’t like there was anyone nearby that seemed to be available.

Not anyone you’d be comfortable joining, at least. You thought as a trio approached you. They seemed to have taken their drinks quite heavily, from the way they walked. A woman hung off the arm of a man, laughing at something he said as they neared you. With them was another masked in gray, though he only turned his gaze to yours after listening to something his friends said. Introductions were brief names, as titles would ruin the nature of the ball, before they asked if you’d like to join them on the dance floor.

...You were sure they’re nice, decent people… But there was something in your gut that hindered you from accepting their offer; Which was odd, considering that other than tipsiness, there wasn’t anything else you could objectively pinpoint as a reason.

Could you get away with saying you didn’t feel well..? Though looking at the way they interacted with you and each other, you had a suspicion that they’d simply offer to help rather than just leave you be. People that overestimated their bounds were always harder to handle...

In your dilemma you found your gaze shifting towards the main doors, which weren’t too far away. Maybe it was the desire for an escape that caused you to look there, but no sooner than you could consider other excuses, one of the doors swung open to introduce a latecomer to the event. His entrance was a quiet one, since it was halfway through the evening; You don’t think you would’ve noticed him at all if it wasn’t for the timing and your position here.

It was a man dressed in black and gold, with a similarly subtle mask. He wore a dignified design, but what made him stand out in particular was his hair - a rich scarlet that ran down his back like flames. You’re caught in surprise when he scans the room and eventually looks at you.

Had he sensed your gaze? Regardless, you tense from being caught red-handed, scolding yourself internally for staring. Well, he was quite attractive, even from this distance, but you were raised better than that! You couldn’t simply get distracted by any pretty person you see!

Ah, and now he was walking in your direction. Some over-optimistic part of you considered he might’ve been looking past you rather than at you, but the closer he was, the more apparent it got that that wasn’t the case.

The lady you’d half-forgotten was there stops in her chatter to follow your line of sight. She raises a brow at the redhead. “Do you know him, dear?”

“So you weren’t alone!” Her partner chuckles, as if the notion was a pitiful one to begin with. You might’ve felt annoyed at their over-familiar attitude towards you if it wasn’t for the stranger that was now here.

“Who wasn’t alone?” The stranger asks, tilting his head slightly. You pray that his personality did match his appearance - that he wouldn’t fall into their conversation and make it impossible for you to escape at all.

You can’t help but note that his dark apparel highlighted his features well; He seemed even more like a prince up close.

“Me,” You supplied. “They were kind enough to pay me company when I was taking a break alone...”

That seemed to be enough to help him read the situation. “I see,” The stranger gives you a small bow, placing a hand on his heart. “My apologies for having you wait, my lady.”

You give him a gentle smile, playing along. “It wasn’t a problem, please don’t worry about it.”

“Ooh, in that case, we won’t bother you two any longer.” The lady winks at you, tugging at the arms of her companions as if to clue them in. “The next dance is starting.”

“Shall we?” The stranger offers you his hand, an invitation to dance. You take it, turning back to give the trio a short farewell before he leads you into the fray of dancers.

“Thank you,” You bow your head slightly, adopting a more relaxed smile. “I don’t think they meant any harm, but being crowded like that all of a sudden…”

“They seemed like the type to not read a room.” He observes as you both start a waltz, shoes gliding over the marbled floor. “I’m glad I could help, I have some acquaintances that are the same… They can certainly be quite annoying.”

You have to stop yourself from chuckling at his words. He was certainly more honest than you’d expected, from that gentlemanly rescue earlier. “I thought it might’ve been rude of me to admit such a thing.”

“There’s nothing wrong with stating a fact.” He pauses. “Well, you can at least say that much to me. It’s a night of masks, after all, no one will be any the wiser.”

You’re led into a twirl underneath his arms, at which point you do let out a soft laugh. “That’s true, we’re in a room of unfamiliar faces, at the moment.”

“I think I’d be more worried if you said this sight was a familiar one.”

Your lips quirk. Just who was this guy? “Touche. I wonder if you’re as well-spoken normally?”

“Who knows?” He returns, lips curved covertly. “You’re quite the curious one as well.”

[nessinborderland]

The Best We Can

Pairing: Hatter x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Angst

Word Count: 1k

Summary: Before, death was imminent, yes, but tonight… tonight you got reminded of your own mortality.

Warnings: mentions of death, injury, blood and panic attack

Notes: @hatterstan-shameblog asked: real hype about the way you wrote my boy danma takeru, just the right balance of ‘charming best buddy’ mixed with ‘manipulative rat-bastard.’ like, you really Get Him in a way that makes my heart smile.anyways, if you’ve got the time and the inclination, i’d love to see what you’d do with a little hurt/comfort.****picture it: 3AM, post-game, him and reader (you) sitting on the counter in the beach’s kitchen. taking gulps straight from a bottle of wine, passed between the two of you. trying to ignore the smell of blood drying on your skin.“what do we do now?” you ask.he pats you on the knee.“the best we can.”****y’know, like. bittersweet. a rare moment of vulnerability on his part. just mess me up, friend.

After 84 years, here I am! God, it’s taking forever to go through all your requests, but I can happily say that there are only about 20 one-shot requests to write :) so YEY! Dude, really hope you like this. I’ve been feeling angsty lately so I just took the chance lol. Enjoy <3

Masterlist

Seaside Paradise Tokyo – or the Beach, as your friend decided to call it – is a ghost town at this hour of the night. The few people that live there with you either died tonight or are passed out drunk. But not you two. 

Not after tonight’s game. 

You don’t think you’ve ever experienced something like this – the never-ending feeling that you’re breathing on borrowed time. Before, death was imminent, yes, but tonight… tonight you got reminded of your own mortality. Your head is filled with the fresh memories of multiple people dying in horrible ways, screaming and pleading for either help or mercy as you look down on them. You can’t stop thinking about how you should’ve been one of them, how you should’ve died tonight.

But you didn’t.

And your savior – the man that made the decision to let everyone else die so you could live – is offering you a bottle of port this very moment.

“Earth to Y/N.”

You’re pulled out of your thoughts with a low gasp that doesn’t go unnoticed by your friend, that raises a brow in concern. You accept the bottle without looking him in the eyes and take a gulp of the sweet wine, swallowing without barely tasting its rich flavor. You don’t have to pretend that you’re fine in front of him – not after he saw you desperately cry and have a panic attack just an hour before – but you still can’t force yourself to look at him.

Not after what happened.

“You’re trembling,” he says, voice low, like he’s talking to a wounded animal. His arm goes over your shoulders, and you flinch and slap his hand away on an impulse. You gasp and stare into his wide eyes, a knot forming again in your throat.

“Takeru, I–”

“It’s fine,” he says with a nod, standing up from his seat at the kitchen counter right beside you. There’s a dark expression in his eyes, something you can’t quite place, but that terrifies you beyond belief. You hear him sigh as he turns his back to you for a moment, almost like he’s leaving, before changing his mind and going back to sitting on the counter, now far from you.

You watch him as he grabs the bottle beside you and takes several long gulps, drops of wine running down the corners of his mouth to mix with the blood on his skin and down his chest. That makes you look at yourself, skin specked and covered in blood that is not your own. You let out out a muffled sob, eyes filling with tears that you thought you had run out of.

He doesn’t get close to you this time, and you’re not sure if you hate or appreciate the gesture. Probably both. He only looks at you when you start crying again – pathetic whimpers that you force yourself to stop. His gaze is soft but his mouth is set in a hard line, and you turn your back to him as you try to calm down, ashamed of your reaction.

You stop crying soon enough and accept the bottle of wine when he offers it to you again – this time appreciating the alcohol as it sets in your stomach – feeling yourself relax almost instantly. 

Time goes by where you just sit in silence, sharing the wine between you until that bottle is empty and he opens another.

“He’s mad at you, you know?” you ask, remembering the moment Aguni woke up to find you all covered in blood and you freaking out to the moment of almost passing out. He had been hit in the head so badly that he was bleeding profusely by the time he hit the floor. You thought he was dead for a moment until Takeru shook you out of your trance and got you three out, killing and sacrificing everyone else in the process.

“Let him be mad,” Takeru says with a shrug, “He has to realize eventually that we can’t save everyone. Not here,” you say nothing in response, handing him the bottle. He accepts it, looking at you from the corner of his eye, “Are you...mad at me?”

“... No.” you hesitated for a moment, but it’s the truth. You’re not mad, you just… wish things were different. Wish you weren’t there, forced to play games and either kill or be killed. You wish you were back home. You wish your friends were not forced to change.

You wish, wish, wish.

“Do I scare you?” he asks again. This time you take a little longer to reply, but decided to give a negative answer. He chuckles – a dry, humorless sound – that resembles nothing of the Takeru you once knew, “You were never good at lying, were you?”

You sigh and shake your head before sliding down the counter next to him. Your thigh is touching his thigh, and you don’t hesitate to lean your head against his shoulder, proving to him that no, you’re not afraid of him.

“You don’t scare me,” you whisper, almost like you’re telling him a secret, “I’m just scared. All the time. I’m scared for me, and I’m scared for you, and I’m scared for Mori. I just- I wish this was all a nightmare.”

“I’m scared too,” he leans his head on top of yours and hands you the bottle. That’s when you notice that his hands are slightly shaking, “I also don’t want anything to happen to us. That’s why I did what I had to do. You can both be mad at me all you want, but I still wouldn’t change a thing.” he waits until you drink a gulp before taking the bottle or himself, “We’re alive because of me.” he says, before finishing the bottle.

“What do we do now?” you can feel tears threatening to fall as you interlock your arm with his, wanting to feel closer. His trembling hand taps your knee, and you feel as he takes a deep breath and stops shaking.

“The best we can,” he says, “As long as we’re alive, nothing else matters.”

[loverboytrashmouth]

Wish You Were Sober

pairing; Reddie

word count; 4k

summary; Eddie is tired of Richie flirting like a madman whenever he gets alcohol in his system.

a/n; so i decided i’m making a kind of series of reddie fics i write based on songs, bc i’m the type of bitch that listens to any music or intakes any kind of media and thinks “iMagiNe tHiS bUt rEdDiE<333″ so ya there’s that lol. here’s a lil angsty one shot based on wish you were sober by conan gray, aka a superior song if u ask me. as always, read on ao3 here if you’d like and enjoy ! :)

Nirvana blared through the speakers and traveled throughout the too small apartment owned by some random guy in one of Richie’s classes. Richie didn’t know him too well - he thinks his name is Chris? Collin? Something with a ‘C’ - but, hey, a party’s a party, and free booze is free booze.

The trashmouth was chatting loudly over the music with Bill on a dingy leather couch, waiting for Stan and Eddie to return with more drinks. Richie was already significantly further along than his friends in terms of his drunken state, all obnoxious laughs interrupted by hiccups and long, gangly limbs flailing more wildly than usual. It almost should be concerning to the other Losers, having only been at the party for less than a couple hours and their friend already being long gone, but it was what they were used to. Since they were 15 and stealing liquor from their parents, the Losers constantly saw Richie’s “go big or go home” attitude with drinking. They assumed it was just Richie wanting to be the life of the party and center of attention, whether that meant going shot for shot with Mike, accepting any type of drinking related dare from Beverly, etc.

Richie let them believe this, because it was better than telling them the truth. It was easier than admitting to them that around the same time he started sneaking a copious amount of vodka from the Tozier’s alcohol stash, he was also realizing certain feelings he had for a certain Loser.

Richie Tozier loved Eddie Kaspbrak. Richie was sure it was just one of those basic laws of the universe, one that’s impossible to ignore and inevitable to come to pass. Despite this, living in a small town like Derry meant getting the shit kicked out of you if you even look at another guy for too long, soulmates or inescapable love or whatever be damned. Richie had gotten beatdowns left and right from neighborhood bullies for being a “faggot” before he even knew what the word meant, so he, unfortunately, knew this from personal experience.

But now, sitting in an apartment in Manhattan of all places, attending NYU with three out of six of his best friends, away from those assholes in Derry, Richie thought he’d loosen up. Let himself be brave.

He soon learned that was easier said than done; who knew what 19 years of internalized homophobia could do to a man?

It’s not like he was afraid of being more of an outcast; he was already a loser with a capital “L,” and he, along with the rest of his friends, carried the title like it was given to them by the Queen herself. Deep down Richie knew the rest of the Losers wouldn’t even bat an eye at the fact that he liked dudes the way he should have liked girls, so he wasn’t afraid of losing them either. And deep, deep down, Richie also knew there wasn’t really anything wrong with him. Why would he feel such a way if it was supposed to be such an unnatural and vile thing? He couldn’t help who he was, who or how he loved, and God, he loved Eddie so much he thought he could just burst with it sometimes.

That shred of acceptance, though, was buried so deep in his lanky form, and the only way to reach it was through a ridiculous amount of shots. Or beers. Or just about anything with a decent alcohol content, really. He’d even settle with wine if he had to.

When Richie was drunk, he was able to be more clingy and face less consequences. He was already an affectionate guy, constantly pinching Eddie’s cheeks and throwing a lazy arm around the shorter man’s shoulders whenever he could. With alcohol, though, he’d give sloppy cheek kisses and intertwine his fingers with Eddie’s and allow his face to form a subtle blush when an intoxicated Eddie would lean into it.

“Sorry for being all over ya last night, Eds. You know how gross and clingy I can get,” he’d say the following morning, and then they’d fall back into their rhythm of bickering and ‘your mom’ jokes. Business as usual, like clockwork every time they’d get wasted.

Richie thought it was going well, that his feelings were going totally unnoticed, that he was stealth. Until this particular college party, that is.

Richie’s attention left his conversation with Bill about the newest Die Hard film when he felt the couch sink next to him, turning to meet eyes with a mildly tipsy Eddie. The taller man’s face immediately lit up, a goofy smile spreading across his chapped lips.

“Hiya, Spagheds! What’s cookin, good lookin’?” Richie slurred out, his arm finding its way around Eddie’s waist and using his other hand to snatch the mixed drink his friend was holding out for him. Eddie responded with his usual scoff and eyeroll, but Richie noted an extra bite to it that he wasn’t used to getting from him.

“Don’t call me that, asshole! And haven’t you ever heard of personal space?” Eddie grumbled, wiggling himself out of Richie’s side embrace and putting some distance between the two. The arm that was once around Eddie made its way to Richie’s own body as he dramatically grasped at his chest.

“Eddie, baby, you’ve wounded me! Since when do you pass up some signature Tozier cuddles?” Richie was met with a simple huff in response as Eddie avoided his gaze. Richie’s eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at the lack of attention he was receiving from the man who would usually be giving him the most attention, but he was overall too drunk to overthink. With a shrug, Richie downed his freshly made drink in record timing before crunching the plastic cup in his hand and tossing it over his shoulder, causing Eddie to scoff again from next to him. Stan spoke up from beside Bill before Eddie could ream his friend about his lack of care for tidiness.

“Maybe you should start on some water, huh, Rich?” Richie gasped dramatically, turning to look at Stan as if he had just told him pigs fly.

“Staniel, did you just ask moi to drink water? What’s the point of free booze if you’re not gonna take advantage?” He asked incredulously before standing, wobbling on his long limbs for a couple seconds and giggling a bit before regaining his balance. “Speaking of, I’m gonna go see if my boy Chris has any good brewskis lyin’ around.”

“Isn’t his name C-C-Connor?” Bill asked, shaking his head in amusement. He seemed to be the only one enjoying the trashmouth’s antics this evening, as Stan’s eyebrows were furrowed in concern which he tried to pass off as annoyance, and Eddie still kept his gaze elsewhere. It was the latter that made Richie itch for another drink.

“Whatever the fuck, Billiam. I’ll be back in a jiff, my loves! Try not to miss me too much!” Richie exclaimed with a bow, breaking out his British accent for his next sentence. “But if I find m’lady Mary Jane, don’t wait up, lads! Pip pip!”

Before Richie could step five feet from the couch, an aggressive hand was yanking him back by the wrist. Losing his footing due to the intrusion, Richie stumbled once more, nearly toppling onto Eddie. The shorter man’s tight grip on his arm was the only thing that kept him from sending them both back onto the scratchy leather of the couch below. Richie beamed at the attention he was finally receiving, despite the glare Eddie was boring deep into his features.

“Sit the fuck down, Richard. You’re not drinking anymore fucking beer and you’re definitely not smoking anything. You’re drinking some water and I’m taking you the fuck back to your room, asswipe,” Eddie said sternly, getting as close as he could to Richie’s face with the height difference between them. Richie couldn’t help but love when Eddie got like this; sure, he was red in the face more with anger than with the alcohol, but the anger was backed by mountains of concern. It reminded Richie how much his love cared about him, even though he was sure their forms of love differed. There was still some kind of love there, and sometimes, that was enough for him.

Although Richie felt his chest swell and he wanted nothing more than to ease Eddie’s anger and please him, his mouth rambled before his brain could tell it what to say, as usual.

“If you wanted to get me alone, Eds, all ya had to do was ask,” Richie slurred with a wink, slowly bringing his hand up Eddie’s arm, his calloused fingertips slightly teasing the warm skin. Eddie’s face flushed an even deeper shade of red, from anger or something else, no one was sure - until Richie’s hand was being swatted away, the smack of it loud enough for Bill and Stan to hear over the music from their spot on the couch. Richie mumbled a curse under his breath as he rubbed the skin Eddie came in contact with, a sting lingering there. He opened his mouth to speak again, some kind of excuse or apology on the tip of his tongue, but never got it out due to Eddie’s voice cutting him off.

“Stop doing this, Richie! Just stop! I’m tired of it!” Eddie's voice was slowly rising, and the tremble that laced within his words acted as some kind of magical potion; suddenly Richie had never been so sober. 

“Hey, Eddie, it’s okay. I’m sorry, whatever I did I’m sor-” The apology was interrupted with another signature scoff as Eddie looked at the ground, shaking his head, breathing out a humorless chuckle.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing,” he said with a frustrated sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose before looking Richie in his eyes once again. Despite the apartment being dark with the exception of a couple of lamps scattered around the area, Richie could see the glistening threat of tears waiting to spill from the doe eyes he loved so much. His heart ached.

“Of course you don’t know what you’re doing, Rich, because you’re too fucking drunk! You’re always too drunk. I just… I just wish you were sober for fucking once!” Eddie practically screamed, before his voice softened with hurt again. “I just wish you’d act like this with me without fucking booze.” There were a couple beats of silence between them, two pairs of dark eyes swimming with gallons of emotions simply blinking at one another, the only noise coming from Eddie’s sniffling. Richie did all in his power to search for a response, but for once in his life, the trashmouth was at a loss for words. After what felt like forever, Eddie finally ended the moment by turning on his heel and making a beeline for the door, leaving Richie to stand in dumbfounded silence while his intoxicated brain processed the scene that just unfolded. His thought process was interrupted by a voice coming from the couch.

“Wha-what just happened?” Bill asked, his amusement from earlier in the night completely dissipated and replaced with a mix of confusion and concern.

“Richie’s oblivious and a dumbass is what just happened. Nothing new,” Stan deadpanned from next to him. Richie snapped his body towards the pair, making his head spin and reminding him of just how drunk he was. He blinked at the two in an attempt to adjust his sight before raising his hands in defense at Stan’s comment.

“What are you talking about? Do you know what that was about?” Richie asked, pointing towards the direction Eddie stormed off in. Stan rolled his eyes before standing up and grabbing Richie by the shoulders with both hands, giving him a serious look.

“When we went to get drinks, Eddie talked to me. About you. About how you act when you’re drunk, all over him and shit, more than usual. And how much he likes it, but he hates that he likes it, because you only do it when you’re drunk.” Richie continued to gape at his friend, clearly not connecting what Stan’s words meant. Stan sighed, scrunching his face in annoyance and gripping Richie’s shoulders tighter. “He’s in love with you, asshole! Either tell him you love him too, because trust me, everyone except him knows you do, or stop leading him on. It’s fucking ruining him, man!”

Realization finally hit Richie, his eyes welling with tears as Stan’s grip on his shoulders softened. “He- He is? Are you sure? This- This isn’t funny, Stanley. A-Are you sure?” he breathed out, and if it wasn’t for the weight of the situation, he’d made a joke about how he was sounding like Bill, nervous stutter and all. Stan gave a slight nod and responded, but Richie didn’t hear what he said. His mind was suddenly racing; find Eddie. tell Eddie. kiss Eddie. EddieEddieEddie.

Before he knew it his feet were running just as fast as his thoughts, not 100% sure where he was going, just knowing he needed to find Eddie. Richie raced out of the apartment building into the chilly air that was New York City on a late November night, frantically scanning the streets. His eyes soon locked on a figure about half a block down, leaning against a mailbox, head in his hands. Even with the distance between them, Richie could tell he was trembling, either from the cold or from crying, he wasn’t sure. As he felt the sharp breeze across his skin exposed by the rips in his jeans, he assumed probably both.

Richie thought better than to call out his name, opting instead to slowly approach Eddie. He did his best to labor his breathing in his short walk over, mentally preparing himself for the confrontation that was about to take place. The confrontation that would bear all feelings, all confessions. All of the walls Richie had been building around himself since high school would finally come down.

He wished he had another drink.

“Eds?” He spoke softly, possibly the softest he’d ever spoken, as to not scare Eddie and send him running. The shorter man lifted his head from his hands, and Richie’s heart broke even more at the sight before him. Eddie’s eyes were red and puffy, a wall of hurt extremely evident in the soft brown. His nose was runny, and his lip quivered as he looked away when he realized who was standing in front of him.

“Don’t call me that,” he practically whispered, just loud enough for the other to catch it over the bustle of traffic in the streets surrounding them. Although he was avoiding the other man’s gaze like his life depended on it, Eddie made no attempt to walk away. Richie took that as a small win.

“Eddie, talk to me. Please. What’s up? It’s just me and you, man. C’mon.” Richie wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch Eddie. Offer a comforting hand on his shoulder, run his fingers through his hair, hold him close, tell him everything would be okay. But he didn’t dare move.

A car honked down the street, offering the only noise that cut through the thick silence when Eddie didn’t take Richie’s offer to speak. The former stayed silent with his head down, finding the dirty concrete under his pristine white converse highly interesting. Richie let out a sigh.

“Okay, you don’t have to talk. I’ll do all the talking. I’m the Trashmouth after all, aren’t I?” Richie offered a lame chuckle when his attempt at a joke fell flat, Eddie not breaking his frown even slightly. Richie cleared his throat awkwardly before continuing. “Look, I talked to Stan, he told me what you guys talked about, and -” He was cut off by the same humorless chuckle he heard in the apartment minutes ago, but this time it dripped with sadness rather than anger.

“Dammit, Stanley, you fucking traitor,” Eddie mumbled mostly to himself. He shook his head with a deep sigh and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, making them impossibly redder, before willing himself to look at Richie, his voice finally reaching above a murmur for the first time since leaving the party. “Secret’s out, I guess. I’m a fucking cliche. The fuckin’ queer that fell for his best friend.”

All Richie could do was silently stare, mouth slightly agape and eyes comically blown, amplified more so by his glasses. Sure, Stan had told him this not even five minutes beforehand, but hearing it from Eddie himself was an entirely different experience. He figured under different circumstances, Eddie would probably be laughing at how dumb he was sure he looked. Instead, the shorter man looked at him expectantly with tears still in his eyes, clearly waiting for some kind of response, and expecting the worst. They stood this way, basically a mirroring of what played out in the party upstairs before Eddie stormed out, for a solid minute before it was - once again - Eddie who broke the silence.

“So much for doing all the talking,” he muttered, the volume of his voice lowering, Richie realizing as Eddie looked back at the ground that he was closing in on himself once again. “Good night, Rich.”

“No,” Richie finally spoke, his arm darting out to grab Eddie’s hand before he could even adjust his feet to leave. “Please don’t walk away again. Please.” His voice broke on the last plea, his own eyes finally beginning to water. Eddie was still staring in the opposite direction down the concrete path he was planning on following before he was interrupted, but was staying put, not rejecting Richie’s hand in his. “There’s so much I wanna say to you, Eddie. So much. I just… Shit, I just don’t know how.”

Richie was crying just as much as Eddie was at this point but quieter, unable to pull himself together as much as he wanted to be brave. Eddie turned his head to face Richie with his glare still hardened, only softening when he saw the state Richie was in. Eddie had known Richie since they were literal children, and he knew better than anyone that Richie Tozier didn’t cry like this. Not unless something was truly eating at him. The anger Eddie felt towards the situation seemed to have completely disappeared as he comfortably squeezed Richie’s hand, giving him encouraging eyes.

The taller man used his free hand to rub the tears from his eyes, giving him a better look at Eddie. They were standing fairly close to the lone street light of the block, the faint orange tint of the bulb complimenting Eddie’s lightly tanned skin and chestnut eyes. Without thinking, Richie brought his hand up to Eddie’s face, cupping his cheek and wiping a stray tear away with the pad of his thumb. He continued softly rubbing at the skin there after the tear was gone, his thumb dancing across the freckles, his mind flooded with thoughts of how beautiful the man before him was. Eddie closed his eyes for a brief moment, taking in the feel of Richie’s touch.

Unable to find words again but refusing to let the moment slip out of his fingers for the third time of the night, Richie did the only thing he truly knew how to do; he acted impulsively.

If asked, Richie wouldn’t be able to pinpoint exactly when he decided to kiss the man he’d loved since he was 15 in the middle of Greenwich Village at one in the morning. Before he knew it, the hand on Eddie’s cheek slid down to his neck, pulling their lips together before the shorter man could react to the shift in Richie’s hold on him. As much as he didn’t want to admit the fact, Richie knew he wouldn’t have taken such action if it weren’t for the alcohol flowing through his veins, but at this point he didn’t much care. When their lips met, he forgot all about the booze, and became drunk on Eddie.

Eddie kissed back without hesitation, letting go of Richie’s hand and easily snaking his arms around his neck, with a comfortability as if they had done this thousands of times. It was sloppy due to the pair’s mixed tears along with their lack of experience, but nevertheless the two men kissed with purpose, as if the fate of their livelihood depended on this moment. Perhaps it did.

By the time they pulled away and rested their foreheads together, Eddie’s fingers had found themselves tangled in Richie’s dark curls, and Richie’s hands were gripping Eddie’s hips for dear life. The kiss hadn’t lasted too long - thirty seconds or so, if that - however the energy both men poured into those short seconds left them panting heavily, their breath tangling together, hot in the other’s face in the midst of the cold air around them.

“That was better than talking,” Richie breathed out with a wet chuckle, causing Eddie to finally crack his first smile of the night. It was a small one, the corners of his mouth curving only lightly, but Richie saw that his happiness had made its way into his stare.

“Shut up, Richie,” Eddie whispered with no real bite in his words before bringing their lips together again, this kiss softer than the last. While their first kiss was filled with the passion built up from years of mutual pining and secrets, their second let them convey the deepness of their love without words to speak. A tender peck of their lips told Richie everything he needed to know; this moment was very much real, and Eddie Kaspbrak very much loved Richie Tozier.

And if the kiss wasn’t enough, Eddie made sure to tell him when he pulled out of the kiss and rested his head on the taller man’s shoulder, pulling him into a proper embrace.

“I love you, Rich. I- I think I always have,” he confessed, his voice slightly muffled from where his face was buried in Richie’s neck, but the other man heard him loud and clear all the same. Richie released his grip on Eddie’s hips and wrapped his arms around him, letting himself breathe out a sigh of relief as he held him impossibly closer.

“I love you too, Eds. So fucking much, fuck.” Richie pressed a kiss to soft brown waves, breathing in the clean scent of lavender shampoo mixed with light cologne, his senses filling with just Eddie.

Standing in the middle of a bustling city they barely knew in the wee hours of a Sunday morning, arms wrapped tightly around one another, ignoring the strangers that walked past them most definitely giving them some variation of judgemental stares, Eddie and Richie had never felt more at home.

“Alright, Trashmouth,” Eddie started, reluctantly pulling away from Richie’s hold. Richie pouted at the loss of feeling Eddie’s body pressed against his own, making the latter chuckle and playfully roll his eyes. He pressed a quick peck to said trashmouth before continuing. “We can talk about this more in the morning. Right now, you need water and sleep.” Richie slapped a toothy grin onto his chapped lips after, once again, being reminded of how intoxicated he still was, falling back into his goofy demeanor with ease.

“Ya gonna take care of me, Dr. K? Ugh, what a dreamboat,” he replied, miming a cartoonish faint. Eddie simply giggled and grasped Richie’s hand once again, interlacing their fingers and leading him in the direction of their dorms. Richie fell back ever so slightly as to not get caught looking at Eddie like the lovesick dork he was, feeling a warmth grow in his body he was sure wasn’t due to the alcohol.

Richie still drinks after this night; old habits die hard, of course. However, Richie didn’t have to be drunk anymore to admit he loved Eddie. He told him sober and drunk, day and night, and vowed to remind Eddie just how much he loved him until the day they died.

[sweetjekyll]

Leave Your Pretty Dress On — KJI/Kai

pairing: Kim Jongin x Reader

genre: smut, one-shot, established relationship, Mafia AU inspired but it’s entirely smut without plot rating: 18+ . IF you are not of legal adult age, please do not under any circumstances read this work as it is not meant for underage readers. warnings: shameless smut, porn without plot (it could have the tiniest allusion to what could be a mafia au plot if you squint very hard), explicit sexual content, slight choking kink, dirty talk, unprotected sex (wrap it up kids!!), degradation kink, pet names, implied consumption of alcohol, drunk sex, consensual. (Please read carefully the warning tags in the masterlist and those at the beginning of each work to avoid any unpleasant misunderstandings.) count: 1.8k

Requested by anonymous: keyword “undress” + sentence “If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.” from this writing game post.

Masterlist

A/N: to the anon who sent just the keyword and the dialogue, I hope you enjoy this surprise member very much! I couldn’t help myself when you told me to have fun with these two combos. I’ve never ever written smut like this before, so this is quite a step for me in terms of writing sexually explicit content. I edited this pic too, there’s just something so powerful about Jongin’s eyes here that makes me go crazy oof

To my dear readers: feedback is highly encouraged and important! as it gives me motivation to write with more passion, knowing that you like what you are reading. My askbox is always open for questions or to chat ❤

Enjoy! ❤

His breath was ragged and fanning hungrily over that sweet spot below your left ear, you could smell the scent of refined wine as Jongin covered your skin with dark love bites. Both of you were in such an inebriated state after a full bottle, yet your brain could still picture the deep burgundy color of the nectar you consumed, filling your flaring nostrils as you too struggled for a deep breath, shameless moans were rolling off your tongue while his whole body was pressed against your back.

“Jongin,” you drawled his name with such desperation in your voice it made his eyes snap open immediately and focus on your hazed expression. Your back arched as you further pressed your bottom to his hardened manhood, constricted by his tight clothes. His left hand quickly moved from your hip and he brought it up to cup your jaw, forcing you to look at him over your shoulder.

There it was: that look of utter devotion and unadulterated lust in your dilated pupils, illuminated by the lamp on his work-desk as he further pressed your legs against it, slightly parting them with his knees despite the skirt of your silk cocktail dress restraining your movements. His devilish smirk graced his face once more as Jongin attacked your parted lips with a sloppy kiss, uncaring of the way the once rich color of your rouge lipstick was smeared and faded around the corners of you mouth.

“My gorgeous goddess,” he mused in a deep, sultry tone after your swollen lips parted. “I’m so close… So close to taking everything that is rightfully mine.” Jongin purred in your ear as he rubbed his aching erection against your clothed ass, earning a delighted gasp from you.

“I don’t want them to take you away from me…” You softly confessed your worries to him, but he kissed your cheek reassuringly. He did it so lovingly that you almost forgot in your inebriated mind how much you wanted Jongin to just bend you over the desk and finally fuck you into oblivion.

“No one’s going to take me away from you.” Jongin felt a slight ache in his chest, almost as if something was about to melt in his ribcage, knowing you loved him despite all the cruel things he was capable of as a man with too much money and power in his hands. “If we both stick to the story, they can’t prove anything.”

A cunning smile finally graced that beautiful face of yours and you kissed him with such hunger and passion that your attention immediately shifted onto one thing only before you got lost in your drunken thoughts again. “Make love to me, but fuck me like a whore.”

“I’ll give you anything you wish for, Baby Doll.” The deep chocolate of Jongin’s eyes appeared to catch on fire under the only light illuminating the home studio, his golden skin was starting to glisten with sweat from anticipation of what he was about to do. He finally let go of your jaw and, with his right hand pressed against the exposed skin of your back, he pushed your chest towards the surface of the desk and then did quick work of hiking up the skirt of the dress. You whined as he barely grazed your butt cheeks with his slender fingers, goosebumps making you shiver in sweet yearning for him to just touch you where you most needed him. A loud smack echoed in the room along with a surprised moan from your lips, your body jolted forward on the desk while your hands gripped the edges of the desk. “I have barely touched you and you’re already a mess, Y/N.” Jongin chuckled as he massaged your right butt cheek to soothe away the sting caused by the palm of his hand. “How bad do you want me, sweetheart?” He asked you as he pressed his clothed hips to you once again and gave you other butt cheek the same treatment her twin received. Your teeth sunk into your bottom lip when you whimpered, meanwhile Jongin reached up with his hands to get rid of the blazer of his suit and undid the tie around his neck, both discarded on the floor behind him.

“So bad, baby…” You whined while trying to get any sort of friction by rubbing your ass up and down his crotch. Jongin thrived off your need and desire for him, you knew that so well that you took as much pleasure in making him feel needed and special like no other man had ever been to you. Jongin loved being dominant in bed with you and you gladly fed his ego when you weren’t teasing him back like a spoiled brat, because you would rather die than give yourself like that to any other man who wasn’t him. “I want you so bad right now… I want you to grab my hair and fuck me like a bitch in heat.”

Jongin laughed softly in satisfaction and felt himself throb in his trousers, his body was desperate to finally be inside of you, yet he took his time working on undoing his belt, so torturously slow, until he finally pushed down the layers of fabrics which then pooled around his feet. His erection slapped against your skin making you look back at him over your shoulder, patiently waiting as his fingers hooked around the soaked fabric of your lingerie and pulled it to the side.

Your eyes met as he aligned himself with your dripping entrance and you held onto your breath. “God, I love it when you know exactly what you want me to do with you.” Your brain didn’t have enough time to elaborate his words, because as soon as he said that, he eased himself inside of you and took a fistful of your hair, making you look forward while your body arched painful against the flat surface of the desk. With a long, drawn out moan mixed with incomprehensible curses and chants of Jongin’s name rolling off your tongue, he immediately set a harsh pace as he pounded into you mercilessly, just like you asked. Your core was so slick and wet that your body immediately adjusted to his gifted size, your walls were clenching and constricting around his length he wasn’t sure he could hold on for much longer, not when he was still affected by the wine you had both consumed earlier.

He slowed his harsh thrusts until he came to a halt still buried deep inside of you. Sweat glazed your back and his face while both of your breathings were labored, but you still forced yourself to speak— no, beg. “Please, please baby don’t stop!”

Jongin found adorable the way you cried out for him to give you more. “Turn around, Baby Doll,” he instructed you as he bent to kiss between your shoulder blades, then you found yourself empty of his girth. You weren’t sure if you would be able to turn around on your heels as your knees were wobbling out of pleasure coursing through your veins, but Jongin’s hands never left your body as he helped you sit on the desk and then hastily made you wrap your legs around his waist.

“You’re still too clothed for my liking.” You growled as you slid your fingers between the two layers of fabric of his shirt and tore it open; the buttons that once used to hold the piece of clothing together bounced off the surface of the desk and onto the floor, rolling away as your hands roamed your lover’s body without a care for anything else but him.

Jongin slid the thin straps of your dress off your shoulders and down your arms, revealing your breasts to the cool air of the room. You shivered under his intense gaze but his attention was diverted to one of your perky nipples, which he took between his plump lips and licked with so much care that your head lulled back and your eyes closed, moaning soft praised and asking for more.

You bucked your hips and urged him to fill you up once again and he complied, leaving wet kisses and dark marks on your chest and neck until he reached your lips, kissing you with such fierceness you forgot how to breathe... or maybe it was he fact that his lips had been replaced by one of his hands, squeezing ever so softly as he fucked you on top of his desk like an animal in heat, raw and desperate for a sweet release.

“Such a good girl.” Jongin panted against your bruised lips, feeling you clench around him, chasing your high yet you hadn’t even touched yourself yet. “Are you going to cum on my cock and make a mess?” He whispered against your ear, nibbling on it just above your diamond earring.

“Y-Yes...” You stuttered out a breathless reply. “Yes, I’m so close—“ You met his lustful eyes once again and he placed his forehead against yours, completely focused on only you and nothing else.

“Then come for me, you little slut,” Jongin growled as he slowed down slightly just to push your back down against the hard surface of the desk, then he hooked his arms under your knees and resumed his pace from a new angle. “Scream my name so loud that even the guards outside of the house know exactly the only man you belong to.”

More curses followed from your pretty lips; there you were half undressed on a wooden desk as the love of your life made you feel so good and wanted like nobody else did. You slipped your fingers between your thighs and rubbed circles against your wet bundle of nerves, until you felt the knot tighten in your belly and then came the sweet release that rocked your body. You were chanting Jongin’s name like a mantra while your walls clenched around him, a devilish smile graced his sculpted face as he watched you unravel in his arms. Fast paced thrusts became sloppier as he helped you ride out your high, but he still hit all the way inside you with loud smacks. You were so beautiful in your fucked out state that he couldn’t help himself from spilling all of his juices inside you with a deep groan of your name, both your moans mixing like a sinful melody.

Jongin bent forward while keeping still inside of you, satisfied smiles on your hazy expressions and you snaked your arms around his shoulders, bringing him closer for a chaste kiss, as if you weren’t screaming profanities just moment before and begged him to go harder and faster. “You should wear this pretty dress more often,” he whispered against your lips as he ran his hands down your body, latching his fingers around the silk of your dress wrapped around your abdomen. “It drives me crazy.”

[harrysbbby]

Super Rich Kids

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe and Y/N are young and in love, not to mention filthy rich. But does money really buy happiness? Based on Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean

Words: 3k

Warnings: drug use, swearing, mentions of su*cide so please be mindful if this would be triggering. a whole lot of angst

Start my day up on the roof

There's nothing like this type of view

Point the clicker at the tube

I prefer expensive news

Rafe Cameron was an anomaly. Too spoilt to hang with the Pogues, too much of a delinquent to fit in with the Kooks. But he made do.

One of his favourite things was watching the sunrise from the roof next to his room’s large bay window. It centred him, calmed him. His mind was constantly racing, so seeing the orange glow rise over the trees, was nothing short of relaxing.

He would usually do this while scrolling through his phone, checking Instagram, seeing what party had happened the night before across Figure Eight. Fox News would send him updates, you know, rich people paying rich people to tell middle class people to blame poor people. And he supposed he fed into that idea, but as the sun hit his eyes, making him squint, he didn’t think further into it.

New car, new girl

New ice, new glass

New watch, good times babe

It's good times, yeah

Wind blew through your hair as you drove along the highway. You laughed raising your hands above the open windscreen, feeling the air on your fingertips. You could feel the diamond ring wobble on your finger, pulling your hands down to admire it. It matched your icy diamond bracelet, courtesy of your new boyfriend.

Rafe leant over placing a hand on your thigh, the cold feeling of his Rolex catching your attention. You could see your reflection in his glasses as you smiled at him. You leant over, placing a kiss on his cheek, before throwing your head back, whooping into the open air.

She wash my back three times a day

This shower head feels so amazing

We'll both be high, the help don't stare

They just walk by, they must don't care

The steam of the shower blended in the air with the smoke of weed, creating a damp leafy smell. Your soapy hands ran over his skin, washing off the dried saltwater. You grabbed the shampoo, foaming it up in your hands before reaching up to run it through his hair. He held your waist, securing your stance against him as you washed the salt and sand and seaweed from his hair.

He leant his head back, letting the water run over his head. He could feel your lips on his neck. He let out a throaty groan, gripping your bare ass. You giggled into his neck, hand running through his hair, ridding him of the rest of the shampoo.

He felt euphoric.

The two of you were giggling uncontrollably as you exited the shower, leaving puddles along the lavish floors of the main bathroom. You were wrapped poorly in the white fluffy towels, when you heard the vacuum cleaner whir from down the hall.

“Oh shit, the maid is here,” you cursed. Rafe’s bloodshot eyes lit up as hushed chuckles escaped his mouth. You tried to shush him, but your laughter was louder than his.

You made a run for it, sprinting down the hall, leaving drops of water behind. You slinked past the maid in the open living room upstairs. She didn’t even flinch as your white-towel clad bodies raucously giggled all the way to your room.  She had seen similar scenes a hundred times through. She’d found the bottles of alcohol hidden in your room, or your stash of weed. She needed the money, she needed employment from your family, she didn’t care what you did. You and Rafe collapsed onto your bed, still giggling out of your minds.

A million one, a million two

A hundred more will never do

Rafe went home that night. As he entered the house, he heard his dad summon him to the kitchen.

“Hey son,” he greeted him, not looking up from his paper, “I transferred some more money into your account today, saw you made some pretty decent purchases.”

“Yeah,” Rafe cleared his throat, “they’re for my, uh, new girlfriend. You always told me how to treat a girl right, Dad. I really think you’d like her.”

“That’s lovely,” Ward eyes never wandered from the page he was intently staring at. Rafe’s shoulders hunched as he made his way upstairs, unsure his dad even registered his retreating footsteps.

He took out his phone, opening up his banking app, surveying the hefty total. His heart didn’t pick up like it used to when he saw the number rise. He felt empty and unloved, but as your name appeared in a notification at the top of his screen, he thought, maybe, he would have a chance of filling that void.

Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce

Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms

“I never understood what this is called,” your words slurred as you held the bottle up to your eyes, squinting as your hazy eyes struggled to focus.

“Who gives a shit! It tastes good either way,” Rafe leant forward, snatching the bottle from your hands, taking a large swig. You drunkenly laughed before pulling him into a kiss.

Music blared as the party pumped around you. Topper, who was sitting on the other side of Rafe, rolled his eyes.

“It’s ‘mow-ey’ if you’re show-ey and Mo-et if you know-it,” he said taking the bottle from Rafe’s hand, pouring the bubbly liquid into two flutes and passing them back to you and Rafe, “so please, be classy.”

You immediately downed the drink in one go, tipping your head back as you went.

“Or,” one of Rafe’s other friends drawled, reaching into his back pocket, “we could do some of this.”

You eyed the bag of leafy green substance. You held onto Rafe’s bicep, as he grabbed the bag from his friend’s fingers.

You were slouched on the couch, Rafe lazily slung over your middle as you stoked his hair.

“Do you ever wish we had a normal childhood?”

Your high took away your inhibitions, your mouth moving before your brain could stop it. Rafe swivelled in his spot below you, glancing up at your face. He thought about what he had the other night: the void in his chest, the feeling of being unloved, but the feeling of doing whatever the hell you wanted when you wanted was so freeing, but was it freeing enough? He answered honestly.

“I…I don’t know.”

The maids come around too much

Parents ain't around enough

Too many joy rides in daddy's Jaguar

“Why is your house always being cleaned? How does it even have enough time to get dirty again?”

You laughed at Rafe’s question as you led him into the garage.

“You know my mother, she’s a germaphobe. One speck of dust and she brings the cleaning day forward a half a week!”

You opened the door to the garage, smiling as Rafe’s jaw dropped. He inspected the glistening gold, pristinely kept Jag.

“Now, my parents are out of town, which is the only reason I’m letting you do this,” you pointed your finger at him, before tossing him the keys. As he ran past you to the car, he planted a kiss on your cheek, swinging open the driver’s side door, “Please be so careful, my Dad will kill me if we do anything happens to it.”

You joined him in the car, smiling as he delicately ran his hands over the interior, little ‘oh my God’s escaping his lips. He placed the key in the ignition, hearing the car turn on, allowing an appreciative moan to escape his lips.

“Let’s take this baby for a spin!”

Too many white lies and white lines

Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends

Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends

You walked inside the party, Rafe’s friends immediately ushering him away from you.

“Look, what I’ve got.”

Rafe’s eyes train in on the white powdery substance in the small plastic bag. He gulped. He’d drunk and done drugs before, sure. But cocaine was different. Although its white colour glistened against the glass of the table, its darkness was encompassing.

“Babe! Where are you?”

Rafe heard you call his name. He hushed the boys around him.

“Later, later.”

He ran up the stairs, finding you and spinning you around, capturing your lips in a kiss. It caught you off guard, but you melted into it.

You hummed as he released you before capturing the sight over his shoulder.

“Ew gross. Cocaine is disgusting. Makes people so violent. Promise me you won’t become like them,” you caressed Rafe’s face nodded your head towards the guys behind him.

“Yeah of course. I would never,” he nodded, allowing you to drag him away, casting one final look at the white powdered table as you went.

It was hours later, and you still couldn’t find Rafe.  He left you at the beer pong table to go to the bathroom, but had never returned. You weaved your way through the party, before his blue polo caught your eye. He was hunched over a table, a group of rowdy, aggressive boys surrounding him, one hand up to nose. You stomped over to where he was faced away from you, tapping his shoulder harshly.

He rose, turning his head, catching sight of you. He stood to his feet quickly, hastily wiping the white under his nose.

“Y/N, I—” he started, but your raised hand cut him off.

“No Rafe, I’m just… so disappointed, I really didn’t think this was you.” He looked like a scorned puppy, eyes wide and lip pouted. Problem was, he was meant to be your ride tonight. All your things, including your car, at his house. But very obviously he could not drive. You crossed your arms over your chest, “Give me your keys. I’m leaving. I don’t care if you come or not.”

He quickly fished into his pocket, handing you the keys as you continued to glare at him. You stalked away. He felt one of the boys hands come to grasp his shoulder as another laughed.

“Bro, your Mrs is mad!”

“She’s gonna give you the best angry sex—"

“Just, shut up!” Rafe snapped angrily. The rage burning inside of him was like nothing he had ever felt before. The heat rose, as if steam emitted from his years, his skin felt like it was on fire. He shrugged the guy’s hand off his shoulder, jogging to catch you before you left.

Real love, I'm searching for a real love

Oh, real love, I'm searching for a real love

Oh, real love

You and Rafe had just exited the Golf Club, walking hand in hand towards his car. It was your 6 month anniversary. You celebrated with an amazing meal, and Rafe even surprised you with an amazing new dress and shoes for the evening. You were super impressed he had managed to pick it out, but understood more when he said he had gotten Sarah’s help. Regardless, it flattered you, as he had clearly been paying attention as the dress was the same one you had eyed off shopping together just weeks previous.

The chilly night air hit your skin causing you to shiver. Rafe let go of your hand, shrugging off his suit jacket, before wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you smiled. You reached his car, leaning against the passenger side door as Rafe held both your hands, “I had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too,” he pulled your head up to meet his, placing his lips gently on yours. This kiss felt different than the others, more passionate, slower and more tender. Rafe pulled away looking into your eyes. He felt a warm feeling in his stomach, like it was summer, butterflies floating around.  His knees felt weak, as he whispered, “I love you.”

He had never said it before. He don’t even think he had felt it before, ever. He didn’t get this feeling when he was with other girls or his family. He felt nervous, worried that this wasn’t the feeling he was meant to have.

“I love you too,” the anxiety pulsating through his body subsided when he heard those words. He pulled you in for another kiss and he knew. This was what it was meant to be like: love. Real love.

We end our day up on the roof

I say I'll jump, I never do

But when I'm drunk I act a fool

Talking 'bout, do they sew wings on tailored suits

You had reached the Cameron house, following Rafe up to his room. He immediately moved across the room, stepping outside his large window. You huffed, following him, knowing your argument wasn’t over. You sat next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest, looking out over the trees, looking as if they were glistening under the moonlight.

“You know, sometimes, I think it would be easier if I jumped.”

His voice was solemn, yet serious. He sounded as if it was something he had genuinely considered, hard expression staring off into the middle distance.

“Rafe,” you started, but he continued.

“I think, it would be so much easier to just end this life, start the next. See what’s in store for the afterlife. But then I think, would there even be a spot for a person like me in heaven?”

You didn’t know what to say. Your skin felt hot and your heart was beating out of your chest.

“You’re not a bad person, you just… do stupid stuff sometimes,” you tried to calm him. But his expression didn’t change.

I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm

She slaps my hand

It's good times, yeah

Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall

The market's down like 60 stories

He was stood now, but his feet were unsteady. He looked almost unwell, sweat beaded across his forehead. You stood slowly arms outstretched, watching as his feet shuffled. They took one too many little steps, missing one of the roof tiles, causing him to wobble.

“Rafe!” you screamed, reaching forward grabbing his arm. You used all the strength in your body to pull him towards you. It worked but sent both of you falling back onto the roof. He landed next to you. You groaned as you sat up, rubbing your elbows which took the brunt of your fall.

“What the fuck was that Y/N?” his voice was gravely. He shoved you away from him, as he struggled to get to his feet again. You stood slowly.

“What the fuck was what? You were gonna fall, Rafe!” you yelled back, your face holding a bewildered expression.

He felt the fire burning inside once again. But now the voices that had been drowned out from the sticky substance flying up his nose, had begun crawling out of the void

No one loves you.

Your father thinks you’re a failure.

No one loves you.

You’re not gonna get anywhere.

Why would she love you?

“I don’t need your fucking help, okay?” His voice was venomous. You could feel droplets of spit hit your face, burning as if they were poisonous. Tears welled in your eyes as he continued to scream, “I’ve never wanted it. You were a good fuck, but you don’t mean anything to me!”

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered. It was the drugs talking. He was Rafe, your Rafe, and he loved you.

“Yeah, I do.” The certainty in his voice was piercing. The voices were egging him on: you mean it, you mean it. But really, he felt it. Nothing meant anything to him. The void was swallowing him up whole and he didn’t want to take you with him. “Everything in my life is shit, okay? Including you. I don’t need you telling me what to do and I especially don’t need you for anything else. We’re done.”

Tears were falling rapidly down your face. His expression was so hard, it alone couldn’t have cracked your heart. Sobs began escaping from your lips, watching as he breathed heavily. This was not the boy you fell in love with. This was the shell, overtaken by his self-loathing and unfulfillment. You wiped your face, collecting yourself.

“So what that’s it?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Rafe didn’t say anything, the only movement coming from him being the heavy rise and fall of his chest. “I really hope you figure out whatever’s going on with you,” your voice was so shaky the words nearly didn’t come out. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you hastily climbed back through the window, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible.

The heat had subsided from Rafe’s body as he watched you leave. Your tears had dampened enough of the fire for him to realise what he had just done.

She never loved you.

You’re a failure.

How could anyone ever love you?

He heard your car start from the driveway, seeing the red reflection of your lights against the trees get dimmer and dimmer. You were gone. And you were never going to come back.

And some don't end the way they should

My silver spoon has fed me good

A million one, a million cash

Close my eyes and feel the crash

So you and Rafe broke up. You’d run into each other at parties occasionally, barely making eye contact and definitely never speaking. Over time you showed up with a new boyfriend, clad in designer wear. Rafe continued to hand in the corner, snorting blow and a bottle Moet in his hands, desperately clinging to the last thing he had left, you.

The Cameron money stood well over time, aiding Rafe and his addiction. But every snort came at a different kind of price. His emptiness grew larger and wider, fully encircling his body. The only thing reminding him he was alive was the pit in his stomach, ignited every time he got high.

At night when he would close his eyes, begging slumber to take him he would see your face. The wind blowing through your hair. Your smile. What it felt like to feel loved. Something he hadn’t felt until he met you and hadn’t felt since he lost you. He was empty and unloved.

Real love, ain't that something rare

I'm searching for a real love, talking 'bout real love

Real love, yeah

Real love

I'm searching for a real love

Talkin' 'bout a real love

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

a/n: I never really write angst jsjdjajsj but lemme know what you thought.

Tags:

@downbytheouterbanks @thesailbells @sexualparkour @maybankxcameron @mileven-reddie @nikki082489@treestarrrrrrrr @mynamessusan @kristinaxilliano @love-bean @lauraxwndrlnd @jjsthumbring @obxmxybxnk@lovelymaybankk @http-cherries @belledutchess @wicked-laugh @jjswhore @sspidermanss @fandomobsessedlife@dolanfivsosxox @whenyouregrungeaff @poguestyleskye @iknowrocknroll567 @kingdomheartsfan109@dangerouswhispersblog @hopelesswritingxd @marveloucnco @riverdaleserpent04 @yeetingcelery @babyhoneystvles@ravngers @k3nz-doodl3 @famousstarsandkelly @readysteadygo23 @finelinetrack @sha-nah @silverstarsandsuns@awkwardnesshabitat @annedub @a-wade @ineedmorestyles @averagxfangirl @shreyaodedra06 @silverstarsandsuns@jjmaybangme @kisssmefree @shawnssongs @p0gues4l @hannahufflepuff @lovelymaybankk@tomfreakinghollandneedsaoscar @softstarkey @kiarasflowr @drewstarkey @tcmhollnd @myrandom-fandomlife@jjtheangel @jjmaebank @masintahin @o-b-x @stilinskiandsuch @jellyfishbeansontoast @tessisawriter @cutiecolbsss@my-soul-is-the-moon @sunshinemadds @kisssmefree @certainstatesmantoadartisan @lefthandwritings @poguecollins@disagreeable-pink @tytheguyudontno @helplessquotess @taaniesha @obx-beach @thegeekyblondegirlwholovesstars@lcil123 @teenwaywardasgardian @sortagaysortahigh@jeyramarie​ @ellystone @classygirlything @marauderskeeper​ @rudyypankow  @ssjiara @bluebirdsbluebells @lavenderpope @rretrophilee @kitluvs1 @outerpogues @maaybanks@maebanks @thelocalpogue @heyhey-heyward @popcsheyward @maybe-maybanks @pixelated-pogues @thatsme-johnbookerroutledge @maybankdreams @maybankiara @pogue-writings @honeymendesx @faded-blue @smiithys @justpeachykeeeen @justcallmesams @danicarosaline @free-pool-trash @saturnspack @velyssaraptor @no-shxt-sherl@saphira1412 @raekenliar @pancakefancake @imuniqueperson123 @marveling-avengers @lus-shh@hmspxgue @winterdameron

[mollymauk-teafleak]

A Wedding in Paris

Trigger Warning: Light mentions of setting appropriate homophobia, alcohol use

“What’s a marriage anyway? Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

Lucian and Stephen spend their first day in Paris, the first day of their new lives.

----------------

Please leave a comment over on Ao3!

-----------------

Stephen had been nervous about Paris.

It was his first step outside of England, the first of a headlong sprint that was going to take him even further than he’d had the free time to read about in books. Paris was meant to be a gentle start, just a hop over the Channel, within three day’s reach of the country he’d grown up in all his life, but it had still frightened Stephen to imagine. A new city, a new soil, a new tongue. A new him, supposedly, a Stephen Day who wasn’t a justiciar and wasn’t alone but now had to find out where he fit into the world, starting with Paris.

It had taken him all of a day to decide he really, really liked it.

That day had consisted of waking up in a very expansive, comfortable bed, made all the more comfortable and slightly less expansive by the fact that he was sharing it with all six feet of his lover. Then he’d padded around the lavish hotel apartment he’d been too exhausted to take any notice of after yesterday’s boat ride, in  a mix of wonderment and apprehension, until Lucien had woken and summoned him back to bed with a crook of a finger and a smile. Not all that different from his fonder mornings in London.

But then there had been bright sunlight, walks along boulevards familiar enough to Stephen that he could relax into the excitement of the chatter around him in unknown, lyrical languages, the smells of herbs he couldn’t name coming from the street stalls, the bright fabrics and colourful buildings. Then there was a park, open space and the smell of fresh cut grass and summer flowers, a museum with paintings from far away and long ago that Stephen felt he could fall forwards into, a patisserie with cakes that looked like perfect sculptures and tasted like heaven. Even the ether felt different, like rich velvet, less fettered by smog. There were smiles, laughter that made his jaw ache, a heart lighter than he could remember.

And through it all, more than anything else, there was Lucien. At Stephen’s side and smiling as he stared like the dumbstruck tourist he was, walking a few paces behind with a proud, patient chuckle while Stephen surged ahead to see something new, lounging beside him and explaining the ways in which French fashions differed to British fashions with each example that passed by. He indulged his little witch completely and for once Stephen didn’t argue or allow himself to become embarrassed by it, the cakes tasted too good for him to recoil at Lucien happily buying him as much as he could eat. It brought that smile of satisfaction to his lover’s sharp features, the warmth in his eyes that their troubles in London had made rarer than either would like.

And there were the touches.

The first time it happened, Lucien casually placing a hand on Stephen’s arm as they walked, he’d frozen in place. For a moment, he’d forgotten where he was, certain they were still in England and even a simple, friendly touch like that would get them spat at in the street. Lucien had taken his hand away quickly with an apologetic, understanding expression, endlessly patient with Stephen’s anxieties, willing to go slowly. Stephen appreciated it, his heart hammering in his chest until the next delight chased it away.

But then, sitting in the park, Lucien had made to reach for Stephen’s hand, stopping only at the last moment when he caught himself. His quick amber eyes had noticed and, for a moment, the fear jolted through him, a sour, metallic taste on his tongue. But only for a moment, the sugar and fresh air rushing back in and, with it, a sense of giddy courage. They were in the shade, dappled by the leaves overhead, and no one was looking their way.

And if they were, what of it? Lucien had promised Stephen a life of freedom. He’d told him they’d go places where everything about Stephen- his magic, the fact that he liked men- wasn’t something to be hidden and ashamed of. And every other impossible thing Lucien had promised was apparently true, so why not this?

So he’d joined their hands together, threading his fingers through Lucien’s larger ones until they knit together naturally. Not a manipulation of the ether, not a spell, just the honest scrape of rough, callused skin against his lover’s, scar brushing against scar, fingers slotting perfectly into the gaps between hair dusted knuckles. It had been Lucien’s turn to jolt in surprise but, God, the look he’d given Stephen put every wonder they’d seen into the shade.

Possibly that look, possibly the wild and welcome sense of freedom, possibly the fact that Merrick knew of a wine bar that didn’t close until one in the morning and served the most delicious ruby red burgundy and a very reasonable price, possibly a combination of all of these factors decided how Stephen’s first day in Paris ended.

Which is to say, piss drunk and dancing with his lover in an empty Parisian street at half past two in the morning. And happier than he could ever remember being.

“Lucien!” he cackled, clinging to him for dear life as he spun him around in what a waltz might look like through a haze of wine, “Lucien, I’m going to be sick!”

His lover laughed, finally letting them stop, moving into a slightly less disorientating four step that neither of them could really keep up with, “I thought you practitioners could hold your alcohol better than us mere mortals?”

“Not when it’s this much alcohol,” Stephen snorted, tilting his head back to watch the stars lurch drunkenly across the velvet blue sky, “God, Lucien, this place…”

“I know,” Lucien purred, catching him in the pool of gas light coming from a streetlamp, letting Stephen slump bonelessly against his chest as they swayed in a lazy circle, “This is what it should be like, my love. This is how you’ve deserved to live your entire life.”

Stephen giggled, loose limbed and loose lipped with the weight of the sweet wine on his tongue,  “No one cares...I’m dancing with my lover in the street and no one cares…”

Luien’s cheeks were a little red too, his speech a little slack and grin overly wide, but he was a few glasses down on Stephen, “Well, we can still get arrested for disorderly behaviour and waking the neighbours.”

“I see,” Stephen hummed with exaggerated seriousness, face still pressed to Lucien’s chest so it came out a little muffled, “We should be inside then so we can be as disorderly as we wish.”

“I like the sound of that,” Lucien chuckled, half dancing and half dragging Stephen to the door of their hotel which they’d been wonkily aiming for when they’d started their impromptu waltz.

Getting through the lobby with whatever wine soaked dignity they could muster took a few moments when Stephen stumbled on the steps and Lucien couldn’t remember his own name briefly when the front desk asked but eventually they staggered up the stairs to the apartments they were calling home until they could book passage further into Europe.

Fortunately they didn’t have to fumble with the key in the door, the French helpfully built their door knobs in brass and he sent it swinging inwards with a thought, unfortunately just as Lucien swept him up to kiss him against it. The two of them burst into helpless laughter, sprawled on the mat, giggling like children.

“Get off me,” Stephen managed to get the words out, through the laughter and the fact that shy of two hundred pounds of muscular lordship was resting on him, “I can’t breathe, you great lump…”

“Some poorly timed romance on my part, I apologise,” Lucien laughed, finding his feet and pulling himself up, snagging Stephen on the way up.

“Oh,” Stephen’s eyes glittered in the pale moonlight, the only thing keeping the apartment from complete darkness, “Well...don’t let this keep you from trying again.”

Lucien seemed to take that as a personal challenge, not letting his lover find his feet, just sweeping him into his arms and carrying him straight to the canopy bed. With a few assists from Stephen, bending the ether to shove an ottoman and curl the corner of a rug out of their path, they made it with no broken necks or barked shins.

“Did I tell you the ether feels different here?” he found himself murmuring, once they’d toppled into the pool of silk and down, his mouth doing that thing where the wine rather than his brain made it move.

“Hmm?” Lucien had collapsed next to him, looking like a scarecrow that had been dropped from a height. A scarecrow dressed in Hawkes and Cheney’s finest, “Don’t recall. Tell me anyway. I like when you talk about magic, your eyes light up.”

Stephen reddened until he was probably a similar colour to the wine they’d been drinking but he held his hands up above himself, backing them against the rich muslin of the canopy. He twitched his long fingers as he spoke, like he was stroking something.

“I work with my hands so it feels different to me. It feels richer, like I’m moving my hands through honey rather than water, like it is back home. It...drags on me, like it’s alive and it’s touching me as much as I’m touching it. Like the difference between velvet and cotton, you know? You just want to dig your fingers in and see how far it goes. I bet if Esther was here, she’d say it smelled different too and I’ll ask Saint if it sounds different…” he trailed off, glancing to the man lying beside him, realising that Lucien was gazing at him with an expression warmer and more adoring than anyone he’d ever given a magical lecture to.

“Did my eyes light up?” he asked shyly, mouth cocking into a smile.

“All of you does,” Lucien purred, looking at him the way Stephen had looked at the paintings and artefacts in the museum, like he was something precious and masterful, like the whole world around them and dimmed and Stephen was all that mattered, “This is just...this is everything I wanted for you, my love.”

“To eat my own body weight in cake twice over?” Stephen hummed,

The jesting tone was a little flat and shaky but he needed some way to blunt this. Because if Lucien kept talking like this and looking at him like that then he felt me might cry. Because they were alone in a beautiful place and everything was changing, because he loved this man so much and he loved him back and light could be as overwhelming as dark. You could drown in honey as easily as blood.

But, as ever, Lucien was the one who was unafraid. They lay practically nose to nose but it still wasn’t close enough apparently, he reached over to hold his cheek. His palm was cool from the chill night air and Stephen leaned into it instinctively.

“To be somewhere you can just be your incredible self,” Lucien murmured, keeping their voices low even though they were alone, just because the words were Stephen’s and no one elses, “Magical and powerful and mine.”

Stephen turned and pressed his lips to the centre of that slightly roughened palm, “Thank you. I know I’m going to be saying that a lot from now on and it’s never going to feel like enough but still. Thank you so much.”

Lucien kissed the bridge of his nose, running his thumb over his cheekbone, protective and comforting, “And I will always reply that you don’t need to thank me. You came with me, that’s more than enough.”

Stephen melted under the touch, sighing softly, finding a way to relax even beyond what the drink and dancing had already accomplished, “And it only gets better from here?”

“The further we get from England, the less anyone will care,” Lucien promised, fingers moving up to tease the tighter curls at the edge of his hairline, “In China I’ll be able to take you to dinners, kiss you in the street, introduce you as my partner to my fellow traders, brag shamelessly about my talented, handsome shaman…”

Stephen groaned, though he was betrayed by his lopsided grin of incredibly endearing goofiness, “Wonderful...though I like being called your partner.”

“Well,” Lucien patted his cheek and let him go, apparently too drunk and tired to engage his neck muscles, “I’d rather call you my husband but not even Shanghai allows me that.”

This certain kind of moment happens often between two people with more wine in their bloodstream than sense in their head, that one of them will casually blurt something without realising the magnitude of their words, their runaway mouths jumbling up the filing system in their head and confusing the one labelled ‘deeply personal thoughts’ with ‘casual conversation’. People said in vino veritas, Lucien recalled, though the more succinct phrase that snapped his eyes open and froze him in place when he realised what he’d said was ‘complete fucking stupidity’.

Stephen was watching him with wide, golden eyes, no expression but naked surprise, “You’d marry me? If we could?”

Lucien wasn’t often caught on the back foot, even around Stephen. His little witch could count on one hand the amount of times he’d seen him blush as he was now, the amount of times he’d seen his mouth twist into the shy, vulnerable smile of a much younger man who’d been through far less in his life.

“Well...of course. Honestly, if we lived in a different time, I’d have done it long before now. Pretty much as soon as I got the slightest inkling you’d actually have me,” the blush deepened as he spoke and, God, Stephen would have been lying if it wasn’t damn endearing to see his lover’s cold, angular features having to deal with embarrassment.

Lucien caught his expression, laughing exasperatedly and dragging Stephen closer, “Oh fuck off, is this really that much of a surprise?”

Stephen giggled, wrapping his arms around Lucien in turn, “That I could land one of the most eligible bachelors in England? Somewhat...oh heavens, would that make me Lady Crane?”

That set them both off again, gripped by helpless laughter, giddy on wine and fantasy.

“I think you’d be Lord as well?” Lucien snorted, the idea of his radical little witch having a title too funny for words, “Or Lord Consort which even you have to admit is an inherently fuckable title.”

“Well, you’ve got me there…” he snickered, rusty curls falling into his eyes, “Stephen Vaudrey….”

Thinking if he was in for a penny on emotional vulnerability, he may as well be in for a pound, Lucien shook his head, “Actually, if we’re indulging ourselves completely, I’d ask you to keep your name. And, if you’d be so kind, extend it to me?”

Stephen’s jaw dropped, “Pardon? Did I hear that right?”

Lucien shrugged lazily, managing to haul himself up into something more like a sitting position against the bolsters, “Come on now, darling, like I’m going to cling to the surname of my abusive father and brother when I could join a loving family of people with actual integrity and honour.”

Stephen scrambled after him, resting his head on Lucien’s chest, gazing up at him adoringly, “That’s...I don’t even know what to say, Lucien.”

Lucien pushed that wayward hair back, his heart thudding at putting that expression of bewilderment and love on Stephen’s face and wanting to admire every inch of it, “So you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life with Lucien Day?”

“I’d do it in a heartbeat,” Stephen said emphatically, turning into his hand the way a cat being petted would, “And I will. No matter what the law says.”

Lucien seemed to consider that a moment, an amusement dawning in his grey eyes, the kind of idea that could only happen when one was a little bit drunk and madly in love clearly taking root. His mouth quirked upwards at the end.

“Fuck the law then,” he grinned, “Marry me. Right now.”

Stephen blinked, clearly missing a few pieces of the puzzle, “Excuse me?”

Lucien lurched to his feet so suddenly that Stephen was left to fall face down into the space he left behind with an ungainly yelp. He turned onto his back to see Lucien straightening his lapels, trying to shake out some of the rumpledness in his suit from their raucous evening. He deftly untied his cravat, somehow managing to force hands that had held several wine glasses over the last few hours to handle the knot expertly. Then he held out his hand to Stephen.

“Your leg please, sweet boy. This can be the something new, I only bought it today, and borrowed too as I’m lending it to you. I’d say your suit can be your something old, given the state of it, as I’ve pointed out many times. Don’t think you’re getting out of Paris without some new clothes by the way. And blue…”

“Our tattoos have blue in them,” Stephen grinned at him as he complied, shivering a little as Lucien pushed up the leg of his worn trousers, “You’ve lost your mind completely.”

“It's this or we become pirates and enter into matelotage, my love,” Lucien hummed, tying the lace around his thigh in a decent approximation of a garter, “And the journey across the Channel made it clear you get seasick far too easily for that.”

Stephen wrinkled his nose, he’d had a near constant sour taste in his mouth for the entire trip, “Granted…”

“What’s a marriage anyway?” Lucien hummed, kissing Stephen’s knee before letting him go, “Rings and a promise and a priest. And, the way I see it, two out of three requirements makes a good enough substitute for me. The law doesn’t want us so I say we don’t want it.”

“Spoken like a true smuggler,” Stephen gazed up at him, feeling like he could float.

Lucien flashed him the kind of grin that made shivers run up his spine, as he slid the magpie ring he’d had made to fit Stephen’s from his finger, “Now I know we already did this part but why not...take mine and I’ll have yours, if you don’t mind…”

His hand felt naked without the ring but Lucien’s larger one lying in his palm was a solid certainty, still warm from his lover’s skin. Stephen clutched it like a talisman, a delighted, bewildered laugh bursting from him as Lucien pulled him to his feet. The two of them stood facing each other like they were before an altar, framed in the enormous bay windows that lay the glittering entirety of Paris out before them. Neither man gave it a glance.

“Now, I’ll do my best to remember how it went at Leo’s though the wine might not be helping,” Lucien frowned as he thought, “Although, having said that, I was drunk for that wedding too.”

“Which one?” Stephen grinned teasingly, “The one years ago or the one last month?”

“Both,” Lucien hummed, taking Stephen’s hands in his own, enveloping them safely in his own, “Now…”

Stephen tilted his head upwards, taking a breath and focusing on Lucien’s face. Something inside him fought through the burgundy fog and the giddiness and the fear of those emotions that felt too big to hold, something whispered focus, this is important, you’ll want to remember every second.

Lucien slid Stephen’s ring back onto his finger, fitting it perfectly where it had sat since last December, “I, Lucien Vaudrey, take thee, Stephen Day, to be my completely unlawful but much devoted and adored husband to have and to hold from this day forward. For better or worse, for richer or poorer, when you’re vomiting over the edge of an ocean liner or in health, so on and so forth and whatever…” he clearly abandoned the traditional vows and his eyes softened with sincerity, “You are the person who woke up my heart when I’d rather forgotten i even owned one. You’ve saved me, you’ve made me a better man and you’ve put so much trust in me. All I can do is swear to you that I am yours, completely and utterly. For whatever it's worth to you, my love.”

For a few moments, Stephen couldn’t speak or move or do anything but stand in place with his eyes fixed on Lucien’s and wonder what the hell he’d done to deserve the place he stood in now. He only realised how long he’d been struck dumb when Lucien stifled a chuckle and pointedly cleared his throat, prompting Stephen to scramble for the ring and nearly drop it, managing to get it onto Lucien’s finger.

“Um, okay, ah…” he shook himself, “I, Stephen Day, take thee, Lucien Vaudrey or Crane or Fortunegate or Day or whoever the hell you want to be, I’ll take every single one of you as my unlawful husband and I’ll do it gladly. I’ll take you for better or worse, though God knows we’ve had plenty of the latter. For richer, hard to do in your case, or poorer, even harder to do in my case. In sickness and in health and whatever else the world wants to throw at us because I swear, you are the best thing in my life and nothing is taking you away from me now. Thank you for helping me see something worthwhile when I look in the mirror, thank you for being that little bit more stubborn than me, thank you for...everything. For the whole damned world. I don’t know what I can do to pay that back but I can promise you I’ll try.”

“You can start by kissing your husband?” Lucien’s voice was rough and thick and if Stephen didn’t know his lover better, he’d say there was wetness on his eyelashes.

Not that he had time to properly take note before he threw himself into Lucien’s arms, kissing him hard enough that he would have buckled if he was a shorter man. Instead they met and melted into each other, kissing hard enough to bruise, hard enough that there would be aching jaws to go along with aching heads the next morning.

And outside of the window, Paris still glittered, gaslamp stars in their cobblestone sea, the Seine the path to the rest of the world that lay beyond. All of Europe, all of Asia, wherever they wanted to go was waiting.

And it would have to wait. Because tonight all that mattered was each other.

[noaltbruh]

Bucci gang and Christmas time!

Do I know we're in the middle of Summer? Yes.

Is that going to stop me from writing headcanons about my favourite characters celebrating my favourite Holiday? No.

(Just a side note: most of the headcanons I write take place in an 'Everyone survives universe', keep this particularly in mind while reading this post)

Enjoy! 🎄

Giorno! 🐞

-Giorno has never celebrated Christian once in his entire life. To be honest...He almost feels a sense of spite thinking about this Holiday, because his parents used to neglect him even more during this time of the year. They would spend entire days out, going party with their friends, buying presents for other people, and wouldn't bother in the slightest to decorate the house with a single light

-For a long time, all he could think about when this festivity came into his mind was the dull plate of cold food his parents would leave him to heat in the microwave, but that wasn't nearly as freezing as the feeling of sorrow that filled his heart. He would sit by the window, watching other people having fun together, while he was all alone in that gloomy, small apartment.

-Can you even imagine how he felt when he first celebrated Christmas with the gang?

-He failed to understand why pretty much everyone was so exited, most of them weren't even Christian. He thought he didn't even deserve to participate, not after all the 'morally questionable' things he does as the Don of Passione

-But it didn't take much for the gang to realize how Giorno felt about Christmas, and they were determined to prove him that he had gotten the wrong idea about this Holiday

-When he noticed that he others were trying to drag him in the 'Christmas spirit', he immediately protested, claiming that he had too many errands to attend to

-Needless to say, they didn't buy it

-Eventually, he gave up, accepting to give this festivity a chance, if that would have made them happy. After all, they've been trying so hard to lift his spirit, he would have felt ungrateful rejecting them even now

-He helped with the preparations in any way he could, from decorating the house to buying gifts for everyone.

-What he hadn't realized, is how much effort and care he was putting in everything he was doing. It wasn't something he agreed to solely to please them, he was genuinely enjoying it, he wanted to be a part of this, even though he failed to fully understand it.

-His favourite part was filling the house and the back garden with lights and any other sort of decorations: candles, wreaths, festoons, music boxes, or just other ornaments in general

-When the 25th of December finally arrived, Giorno was ecstatic. Seeing his entire family having so much fun together, opening presents, admiring the lights, watching cheesy Christmas movies while wrapped up in warm blankets, it felt so...Simple, but so reassuring, he couldn't even put into words how he felt

-His favourite present was a huge encyclopedia about nature. He always reads it before going to bed, it helps him fall asleep faster and more peacefully

-Like I mentioned in my previous post, I think Giorno really likes anything that tastes even slightly sweet, so he absolutely adores Christmas treats! Pandori, panettoni, tronchetti, hot chocolate...He loves all of them!

-He can't deny that he felt really bad when they had to take off all the decorations, and while he wouldn't openly say it, he wishes for Christmas to come back again as soon as possible

Bruno! 🤐

-Bruno is the second most exited in the gang for Christmas! (Can you already tell who's the first? :) ) He's the only one, however, that cares about the religious aspect of it, which is particularly important in a country like Italy.

-It's his favourite Holiday, and it was considered the most important festivity in his family, since all of his relatives were Christians. Besides, he had always been personally attached to it, as it was one of the very few times where he could see his mom, which used to spoil him in whatever way she could

-He goes to Church either very early on Christmas Morning, while everyone is still asleep, or at exactly midnight between the 24th and the 25th. Most of the people that go at times like these are old grannies, but Bruno doesn't care, he thinks it's cute actually ^^

-As he was raised in a relatively humble environment, having the chance to celebrate Christmas in quite the...Extravagant way, after joining Passione, almost felt out of place for him

-That doesn't mean, however, that he doesn't care about the 'materialistic' part of the Festivity, because he sees it as a way to rest his head for a while and spend some quality time with the ones he cares about

-His role as the mom of the group is also remarkably present during the preparations. Bruno is the one that mostly takes care of cooking for everyone, and he enjoys it a lot! His favourite part is preparing sweets of any kind, because they allow him to experiment a lot and always try new recipes

-Every member of the gang has to participate in one way or another to the preparations, and Bruno is the one that coordinates the whole thing

-Bucciarati always gets everyone the best presents. He starts thinking about what to get for them a month before the others, so that he never finds himself in a rush and can take all the time he needs to find the perfect gift

-He also LOVES making and receiving hand-made presents, he can feel all the effort and love that was put into them, and it just feels more thoughtful than something that was bought, no matter how expensive it may have been

-Bruno is that sort of person that prefers to spend Christmas without doing anything particularly exciting, just enjoying the calm and warm atmosphere that fills the house

-However, Bucciarati also loves to go for a long walk down the streets, admiring the lights all around the town, bringing along anyone in the gang that wishes to join him

Mista! 🔫

-While the manga states that Mista believes in a 'God', I don't think he believes in Jesus, Holy Mary, and the rest. He used to go to Church when he was little, but mostly because his parents forced him to, he didn't actually care

-Because of this, he sees Christmas as a materialistic Festivity, but that doesn't mean he's not excited for it. He thinks that it's the perfect excuse for everyone to just chill for a little while and have fun

-Unlike Bruno and Giorno, who prefer to just relax at home without doing anything that requires a lot of energy, Mista is always looking forward to something exiting to do during this time of the year

-Do you want an example? Ice skating! This boy is incredibly good at skating, and he constantly flexes on the entire gang how good he is

-He's that type of person that forgets to buy presents for the gang, and only remembers at the last minute. He's lost count of how many times he had to fight with another costumer because they wanted to buy the same thing, and there was only one left

-Once, a dude was so insistent that he had to pull out his gun to scare him away. Guess what? It worked. Nobody in that shop ever dared to argue with him again

-"Get your damn hands off this videogame, I have a seventeen years old little brother that won't talk to me for two weeks if I don't buy this for him!"

-Aside from getting gifts for Narancia, Trish and the rest, he also gives something to each one of the sex pistols. It's mostly food, but they don't really seem to mind

-Even in this time of the year, Mista is still hot. While everyone is wearing sweaters, long trousers and coats, this madman is still wearing shorts. Trish constantly complains about it, saying that he's going to catch a bad cold, if not worse, if he keeps on dressing like this. He never actually listens to her though

-Like I mentioned early, everyone in the gang has to take care of the preparations in different ways. Mista, together with Fugo, has to buy all the ingredients Bruno needs. It may seem like an easy task, but it isn't; friendly reminder that they have to buy enough stuff for seven people, most of them with very different tastes

-He often gets fed up with waiting in line, and just takes everything he needs and leave without paying. Nobody has the courage to complain, they know better than messing around with a guy like that

-He will most likely steal some of Abbacchio's wine and get drunk. He usually doesn't like alcohol very much, but damn does Abba have good taste in wines

Narancia! 🍊

-You won't find anyone that loves Christmas more than this cute little bundle of sunshine!

-His mother always loved Christmas, and wanted her child to appreciate this Festivity as much as her. Since his parents weren't particularly rich, he always celebrated in a relatively simple way, but his mamma always managed to find a way to make every Christmas different and unique. His father never complained about Mela's excitement, but he barely ever participated in whatever the two of them were organizing. Still, Nari didn't mind, the woman's excitement and joy were successfully passed to her kid

-After she died, for a couple of years, he stopped celebrating Christmas. Not because he didn't want to, he just...Couldn't. His father and him were strangers at this point, and his 'friends' didn't care about it either, they actually thought that it was a stupid thing

-When he finally had the chance to celebrate again after joining Passione, Narancia swore that he wouldn't have let anything, and I say ANYTHING, stop him from enjoying every moment of this Holiday ever again

-Since there are a couple of 'Grinches' in the house, Narancia thinks it's his duty to cheer everyone up, showing them why he loves Christmas so much

-"Nobody's gonna be left out, nope, not on my watch! We're all gonna have a great time, whether you want it or not!"

-Nari already starts to get exited for this Festivity in the moment November arrives, there's nothing he looks forward to more, not even his birthday

-When Bruno finally mentions that it's time to start organizing everything, Narancia jumps from his seat, and it's one of the very few occasions where he listens carefully without spacing out

-Just like Giorno, this baby boy loves decorating the house, they make an awesome team together!

-"Giorno! Look look look...You gotta see this!" "What is it, Narancia?" "THIS SNOW GLOBE! ISN'T IT JUST SOOOOOOOO CUTE?" -"Hehe...I suppose so"

-You may think that, similar to Mista, he forgets to buy presents, but that's not the case! Narancia wants to surprise the entire gang with his awesome gifts, and when they think he can't find anything better...Boom! He slaps an even more amazing present in their faces (not literally, of course)

-Even though he can't cook, he's more than willing to help Bruno with decorating the sweets, filling them with frosting, cream, small fruits, chocolate chips...Anything Bucciarati says he can use, really

-He also loves to go admiring the lights with the latter, always pointing out everything he sees

-"GAAAAASP...AN ENTIRE TREE MADE OF LIGHTS? AM I DREAMING?" "I'd say it's real, would you like to take a picture next to it?" "Yes, please!"

-Every year he wishes for the city to finally be covered in snow, but sadly, when you live in a hot country like Italy, that's most likely going to remain a fantasy

-He really likes wearing those oversized, horrible Christmas-themed sweaters, and genuinely thinks they're cute. He hopes for someone to wear them with him, but nobody ever seems to accept

-He tried convincing Fugo once, it uhm...Didn't go too well. But one of these years, he's going to get Giorno to wear one, he's sure of it!

-Nari still believes in Santa, and Bruno will personally ari the crap out of anyone who dares to tell him that he's not real. He leaves some cookies and milk in front of the tree in the living room, saying that he's going to stay awake the entire night to finally see him. He always ends up falling asleep...So one of the members of the gang has to carry him over to bed

-During Christmas lunch, he will 100% sure overeat, to the point where he can barely stand up from the chair, but still denying verything and acting like his stomach isn't about to explode

Fugo! 🍓

-Similar to Giorno, Fugo doesn't have any particular happy memories of Christmas from his childhood

-His entire family used to reunite to celebrate together. At first sight, it seemed like nothing was wrong: everyone was having fun with their loved ones, but for Fugo...It just felt so fake

-He knew that in the moment his relatives left, his parents would have gone back to their strict and distant behavior. Even during this time of the year, they still pressured him, just in a softer way. They wouldn't let him rest until he finished all the homework his teachers gave for Christmas Holidays, they wouldn't let him play with his other cousins, saying that he was too mature, and the list went on

-The only thing that comforted him was his grandmother, whom the rest of the family only invited for pity. She was the only one that would actually give Fugo something a child would genuinely like, like a puzzle or a plushie

-He was the first member to join Bucciarati's squad, so I'm guessing that they must have spent one Christmas together, just the two of them

-At first, the blonde tried to convince Bruno to just leave him alone, inviting him to celebrate with his relatives, saying that he would have been okay on his own

-Obviously, a good mom would never leave his child, so he declined his propose. For some reason...The man's behavior reminded Fugo a lot of his grandmother, and that was the first Christmas this Strawberry boy cherished in his heart

-While they mostly kept it to something simple, when the others arrived things started to get more and more loud, especially with Narancia

-Even though he would rather just spend the day relaxing at home with something warm to drink, he always ends up being dragged into whatever Nari and Mista are planning on doing. He fell like...10 times when they went ice skating together

-Fugo still acts kinda moody towards this time of the year, as his pride is too high for him to admit that he likes something so 'sentimental'

-He's also super done with having to go shopping with Mista to buy groceries, but he has to help in one way or another

-"Alright...Mista, Fugo, you two will buy all the ingredients I'm going to need"

"Urgh...It's cold outside, and I don't want to wait in line...Do I really have to?"

"Oh? Would you rather setting up the decorations with Giorno and Narancia?"

Cut to Nari already covered in lights while giggling like a kid

"...Just give me the list already"

"Wow, rude"

-Speaking of which, Fugo's immune system is not uhm...The best, and this means that he's always super scared of catching a cold in this period. While he doesn't show it, it'd pain him a lot to ruin everyone else's fun with his sickness

-He constantly wears super heavy clothes, even when they're at home, with all the windows closed and the wood burning in the fire place

-He always looks like a potato sack in the photos, but that doesn't really bother him a lot

-He isn't very good when it comes to making presents. He tries, and remembers to buy them on time, but he's not a particularly creative boy. He's that kind of person that would mostly just buy clothes or relatively 'simple' things, not that I can really blame him...That's pretty much all he received when he was a child

Abbacchio! ⏮️

-Oh boy...OH BOY! The Grinch himself, the Christmas hunter, the gloomy Lord in person

-I like to think that Abbacchio was one of the very few very people in the gang that actually grew up with a loving family, so he was more than happy to celebrate Christmas when he was a child

-One year, his parents gave him a police officer hat as a present, and he refused to take it off for days, even though it was obviously too big for him

-This means that unlike Giorno and Fugo, whose reason for disliking Christmas goes back to this childhood, his hate towards it is much more recent and somewhat less 'justified'

-After the loss of his colleague, he became apathetic to almost everything around him, and this Holiday was not spared. It was quite the opposite, to be honest

-He can't stand the whole cheerful and happy atmosphere, he thinks it's suffocating and makes him sick. Plus, "having a bunch of brats jumping up and down, singing lame carols and decorating the house like it's some birthday party" doesn't help

-Despite Narancia's efforts, the only one who can really get him out of this mood (pun intended) is Bucciarati

-"Just stop it already, Bruno. Go have fun with the children, how many times do I have to tell you that I don't care about any of this?"

-"And how many times do I have to tell you that you're not going to get rid of me that easily?"

-"...Whatever"

-Honestly, what he likes the most about this festivity is that he has an excuse for getting drunk af without anyone complaining. He takes the fanciest and most expensive bottle of wine he has and drinks all of it in less than 10 minutes

-The gang even bets money on how long it's going to take him to finish the whole thing, either Mista or Narancia usually win, since the others tend to underestimate Abbacchio's alcoholic "abilities"

-He puts minimal effort, mostly just because he's forced to, in buying presents for the squad. He's also super biased and obviously plays favourites, even though he would never admit it

-He'd buy something super special for Bruno, try a bit harder to pick up something for Narancia and Trish and take the first thing he sees for Fugo and Mista. As for Giorno...He literally just buys some coal, writes 'Buon Natale' on a piece of paper and slaps it on the carbon

-He has a relatively simple job regarding the preparations for Holiday time, which is...

-"Very well, Abbacchio...You have to pick up the tree from the basement and bring it to the living room"

"Why me? That thing is so fu***ng heavy"

"Exactly, do you want somebody else to lift it up and break their spine? I'd rather not spend Christmas night at the hospital"

-"Sigh...Alright, just because YOU ask"

-Slowly, but surely, he's learning to love Christmas again, though he will still keep on acting grumpy and complain every time he has the chance to

Trish! 🎙

-This girl is ready to brighten up all the festivities! When it's time to have fun, Trish doesn't hesitate even for a moment!

-Similar to Narancia and Bruno, her mother couldn't afford anything super expensive or exciting during this time of the year (taking care of a child on your own is no easy job), but Trish never dared to complain. She was aware of the sacrifices her mother was making to make sure that her child had everything she needed, she wouldn't have thrown a tantrum for something superficial

-Donatella would always give her a new doll as a present, and she would play with it for entire hours without getting tired. Her favourite one was, of course, a blonde doll dressed up as a pop star

-Just like her daughter, she was extraordinarily good when it came to choosing what to wear, which means that when Trish entered her 'teen phase', the woman would gift her a dress instead. Needless to say, the girl loved it every time!

-Speaking of which, after becoming part of the gang, her favourite "Christmas activity", if it counts, was going shopping! I mean...Do you think a person like her would miss out on the Sales? Please

-She doesn't like going on his own though, and brings along somebody with her. That 'somebody's ends up being Mista most of the times, which is literally just DRAGGED out of his room to the shopping centre

-Trish is that sort of person (I mean...I don't know if that's a thing in other countries, but it's pretty much a meme here in Italy) who insists that she's on a diet even during the Holiday season, but every single time someone offers something to eat, she replies with "Whatever, I'll just start next week" or "I'll start after New Year".

-Before she knows, it's the 8th of January and she hasn't been on a diet even for a day.

-One day, she'd like to travel around the world and see how they celebrate this Festivity in other countries. As you can already tell, she valued the materialistic part of Christmas than the 'spiritual' one, and she knows that in a lot of places it isn't considered a religious Holiday in the first place

-One thing she dislikes is how she's forced to wear super heavy and long clothes, she hates them and insists that they make her look fat (which is absolutely not true)

-She LOVES taking pictures of everything! Food? Yes. Decorations? Yes. Gifts? Yes. Just photos in general where the seven of them are together? Y E S!

-Some of them try to run away when they realize that Trish is about to start a freaking photoshoot, but their struggles are always vain, especially since she has Bruno's support

-"Come oooooon, just one last picture!" "Trish, for the love of God, the lasagna is getting cold" "So what? Microwaves exist for a reason" "We are NOT going to ruin all this food by putting it in the Microwave!"

-Being the singer of the group, she takes any opportunity she has to sing a Christmas-themed song, both Carols and modern/pop songs like 'All I want for Christmas'. Half of the times she doesn't even understand the lyrics, but that's not going to stop her for sure

-She definitely doesn't forget to buy presents for the others. After she goes shopping so much, how could she? Most people think it's lame to receive a clothes as a present, but we're taking about Trish here!

-She knows very well how every member likes to dress, and she surely doesn't have problems with her budget. She will pick something for each one of her companions even better than what they would take for themselves

-Lastly, her 'task' is to decorate the tree, which is one of the longest assignments that also require a lot of attention and precision. Why, you may ask? Because that thing is freaking huge, that's why. Giorno and Narancia will probably help her out once they're done with their own decorations, the three of them have a lot of fun together!

[ncssian]

family therapy

summary: cassian is sick of watching nesta and lucien fight all the time, and decides they need professional help. (oneshot)

a/n: this takes place in the same crescent city universe (not a crossover just an au) as this oneshot. you don't need to read that one to understand this one, but they exist in the same world/timeline.

"And how does that make you feel, Lucien?"

"It makes me feel like I dislocated a shoulder, because I did," the fae male grumbled.

Nesta scoffed without looking at him. "You're such a pussy."

"Can't be worse than being an insufferable bitch."

From his spot in the corner of the room, Cassian's jaw ticked at the insult, but he kept his mouth shut. The therapist, Helen, gave Nesta and Lucien a firm look. "What did we agree to about communication in my office?"

A few moments of silence, then Lucien muttered, "Sorry." Nesta echoed him.

"Don't say it to me," Helen said in her smooth tone. "Say it to each other."

"I'm good," Nesta said.

"Nesta." The low warning came out of Cassian's mouth before he could help it. Helen turned to look at him for the first time all session. "And who are you again?" she asked, confused.

Cassian flustered, wanting to be left out of this as much as possible. "I'm her ride," he said honestly. His massive dove-gray wings explained the rest.

Lucien snorted. "Is that what you're calling it now?"

"Okay, I've had about enough of you—" Nesta grabbed for a couch pillow to smack Lucien with.

It was plucked out of her hand before it could make contact with Lucien's scarred face. Nesta whirled on Cassian, glaring. "You promised you'd stay out of this," she hissed.

"I'm paying for this session," he said simply, the calm to her raging fire.

Helen was eyeing all three of them like she didn't get paid enough for this, but she pursed her lips and waited until everybody had settled before speaking again.

"Now," she said tersely, "why don't we start at the beginning?"

***

It was Elain's birthday party, and this year she'd wanted a rager. Lucien, ever the dedicated male, had set up a fine enough party using his dad's money and extensive list of rich friends.

Nesta wrinkled her nose at a pair of grinding werewolves as she walked through the crowded living room, wondering where her sister was in the midst of all this. Cassian's presence was a warm force at her back, keeping her from getting smothered by random Vanir on all sides. She self-consciously tucked the skirt of her minidress down, wishing she hadn't worn white when so many...liquids were sloshing around.

In the dim pink light of the room, she caught a flash of gold and red near the cake table. Her eyes narrowed, locked onto its target, and she sped up her walk until she was face to face with Lucien Vanserra.

"Nice whorefest you've set up, kid."

Lucien turned to her with a fake smile, ready to fight instantly. "Nesta," he greeted sweetly. "Still beating that joke to death, I see."

Years ago, when Nesta had been drunk and feeling particularly vengeful, she'd found herself taking Lucien's father, Helion, to bed. Even now, she liked to remind Lucien of it every now and then by making stepmom jokes at him. And she wasn't about to stop.

"It's not a joke." Nesta didn't bother with the fake smiles. "It's part of my very real multistep plan to marry your dad, make Cassian my lover on the side, become your stepmother, and ruin your life by inches."

"I think you overestimate your ability to ruin my life any more than you already have." Lucien poured something bloodred into a plastic cup. Was he drinking wine at a rager? Gods, she hated him.

"Where is Elain?" she snapped.

"With her friends. You know, because she actually has them."

Nesta sneered. "When are you planning on breaking up with her so she can lead a better life?"

Lucien raised his cup in announcement. "Around the same time you plan on quitting being such a bitch." And then, he tipped over his cup. Wine poured all over the front of her dress, dribbling into her cleavage and soaking her bra. He looked Nesta in the eye. "So, never."

Nesta didn't blink. She didn't know where Cassian had gone off to, and she didn't care. Without looking away from Lucien, she plunged her hand into the three-tier cake on the table— Elain's birthday cake. "This," she smeared the chunk of cake across Lucien's face, "is why your family doesn't love you." She shook clumps of frosting off her hand.

If Lucien was hurt by her words, he hid it well with a smirk. "That's not what your sister was saying last night—"

At that moment, Nesta headbutted him— she rammed into his torso and took him all the way into the wall, then the floor.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" he spluttered beneath her, trying to fend off her tiny hands as they slapped at his chest.

"Fuck you!" Nesta screamed at him.

If people hadn't been watching before, they definitely were now. Out of the corner of her eye. Nesta could see Cassian appear at the edge of the crowd, spot Nesta beating the shit out of Lucien, and then immediately turn around to mind his own business.

Good. He knew better than to interfere when it came to Lucien.

Lucien, being taller and stronger, managed to shove Nesta off his body and into the cake table, but before he could pounce and elevate the fight even further, he was hauled backwards by a pair of small hands.

"What the hell is going on here?" dainty Elain Archeron roared.

***

"And where is Elain in all of this?" Helen asked.

"She stayed home, lest this get any more incestuous than it already is." Lucien crossed his bare arms over his chest.

Cassian snorted at the word "lest", because really, who used that in their everyday vocabulary if they weren't Nesta?

Lucien narrowed his eyes at him, one russet and one gold. "What's so funny, angel?"

Cassian had to reign in his smile. "You talk like Nesta," he said. "And sometimes Nesta talks like you."

"That's stupid," Lucien said at the same time Nesta said, "Don't be stupid, Cassian."

The pair glared at each other, only to instantly look away.

"Well." Helen inhaled a deep breath and looked at her notes. "There are a few things I'd like to touch on during this session, especially after what I've heard about this birthday party." She glanced up at Nesta and Lucien. "You two used to be fairly good friends. Can you pinpoint when the animosity began?"

"Well," Lucien pretended to think, "it might have something to do with the time she fucked my dad."

Nesta scoffed. "Like you sleeping with my sister is any better."

"Which happened first?" Helen asked.

Nesta was silent, which was answer enough. Cassian would have rather been anywhere else than discussing Nesta's past sex life, but he knew she needed this.

"Nesta, what was your reasoning behind this?"

Cassian knew this answer, but he didn't know if Nesta would admit it.

Her blue-gray eyes burned with indignant rage. "Do I need a reason? I liked him, I was of age, so I slept with him."

Lucien shook his head. "I'm surprised you stopped at my father. You could've gone through all my brothers, too. Remember that crush you had on Eris?"

Nesta gasped, looking at Lucien with horror and— embarrassment. Cassian narrowed his eyes, torn between being offended on his girlfriend's behalf and being intrigued by this new piece of information.

"You promised you would never tell anybody," she said, her voice uncharacteristically high. Lucien squinted at her. "Are you crying?"

"No!" Nesta blinked furiously.

"There's nothing wrong with crying," Helen assured her. "But Nesta, I have a feeling you're not being entirely honest with us, and we can't get anywhere without honesty."

Nesta glared with red eyes at the wall, and Cassian met Lucien's gaze and held up his hand in a wait gesture.

Once Nesta was decidedly calm, she let out a breath and grumbled, "He was my first friend."

Lucien glanced at her, surprised, but didn't say anything.

She crossed her arms over her chest. "When we moved to Crescent City, he was my only friend, and I thought we liked each other. I thought we understood each other, but then he— " she swung her glare around to Lucien, "was just using me to get to my sister."

"That's not—"

"This is Nesta's turn to speak, Lucien," Helen cut him off.

Nesta was talking to Lucien now. "The showing up at my house late with beer, hanging around with me all the time while your friends were out having a life— it was all so you could get closer to Elain, because she trusted anybody I liked and you knew it."

Lucien's mouth tightened. "That's why you slept with my dad? Because I took Elain out on a date and you wanted revenge?"

"You forgot about me as soon as you had her. We were drifting apart long before I did anything with Helion, trust me."

Lucien was quiet for a long time. "It's true that I liked Elain from the day you all moved in down the street," he finally said. "But she was never my friend the way you were. And just because I liked spending time with her doesn't mean I didn't like spending time with you. It's comparing apples and oranges; I loved you both."

Nesta blinked. "But you don't anymore?"

Lucien didn't answer, and eventually Helen cleared her throat. "I'm really proud of the progress we just made, but I'm afraid our time is up."

Cassian sat up at that. "You can't cut them off here, they just had a—" he waved his hand, "breakthrough or something."

"And it was very powerful," Helen nodded. "Which is why I suggest going home and reflecting on what we learned today until our next session."

It was Nesta and Lucien's turns to sit up. "There's another session?" she demanded.

"As many as it takes until you two are at a healthy place with each other again." Helen smiled in a polite way that surely made Nesta feral, Cassian knew. He had a suspicion that his pockets wouldn't see the end of this.

Lucien was already getting to his feet and stretching. "Yeah, maybe we should just hug and make up now and call it a day."

At the look of blatant disgust on Nesta's face, he rolled his eyes. "Or maybe not, damn."

Helen got up and smiled that fake smile again. "See you next week." She turned to Cassian. "Should I email you the invoice now or later?"

***

Despite the day's revelations, Nesta and Lucien didn't last a minute once they left the therapist's office. Or rather it was because of the recent revelations, that they felt the need to return to normal.

"You look like such a douchebag in those shirts," Nesta snapped.

"It's just a shirt!"

"WHERE ARE THE SLEEVES?"

"Like I'm going to take fashion advice from someone who's boyfriend only wears black like it's wartime!"

Cassian didn't think that was fair. His shirt was dark gray today.

Nesta and Lucien's voices blended into one jumbled shouting match as they furiously walked out of the building.

"You know what, don't even bother calling me for our weekly recaps this time."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"I'm blocking your number right now." Nesta was digging her phone out of her bag.

"Good," Lucien seethed. "Text me when you get home safe before you do it!"

"Fine!"

"Good!"

They spun on their heels at the same time, Lucien storming away in one direction while Nesta did her furious little speedwalk towards Cassian in the other.

At the end of the street, Cassian gathered Nesta in his arms as he prepared to fly them home. "Why can't you just tell him you care for him like you do with your sisters?"

Nesta braced her hands on Cassian's biceps and glared. "Because he's not like my sisters. He's a male."

Cassian's lips quirked up in amusement. "So like a brother?"

Nesta grumbled something unintelligible, but she didn't deny it. Cassian had a feeling she wouldn't be blocking Lucien's number anytime soon. Still, he was proud of the progress she had made today.

Dropping a kiss onto her hair, he spread his wings wide and shot them into the sky.

***

a/n: i said bryce and ruhn but make it nesta and lucien. also the fight scene was better with shiv and roman from succession 😭 hope you guys liked it.

if i was supposed to tag you but didn't or if i wasn't supposed to and i did, it's probably because i have you on the wrong tag list! just shoot me a message so we can fix that.

tagging: @ladywitchling @sjm-things @thewayshedreamed @drielecarla @sensitiveillyrian @superspiritfestival @aliveahaahahafuck @cupcakey00 @sayosdreams @rainbowcheetah512 @claralady @thebluemartini @nessiantho @missing-merlin @duskandstarlight @lucy617 @sleeping-and-books @everything-that-i-love @clolikescloquetas